


Cocoons and Butterflies

by JM_Winters



Category: Black Panther (2018), Black Panther (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Black Character(s), F/F, F/M, Gen, LGBTQ Character of Color, Other, Playing with comic ideas, Post-Black Panther (2018), Quote: Wakanda forever (Marvel), The other Avengers may drop by, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-04-04 01:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14009388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JM_Winters/pseuds/JM_Winters
Summary: In order to rebuild and grow, Wakanda must first understand their failures. With their science and technology being shared with the world, an inward look to those War Dogs who willingly followed Killmonger with barely a word threatens to destabilize Wakanda. The "Strays" as the Wakandan court have dubbed them and their reasons to act leaves Wakanda asking: where are we to be in this world?Latest Chapter: T’Challa and M’Baku rush to pick up the pieces of Kobya’s sudden exit and betrayal. Meanwhile, Kobya the Stray decides to make a deal with a Goddess. Shuri tries to make odds and ends of it all and T’Challa now finds himself turning to the other Strays for information while he struggles with whether the best decision he can make as a good King is at odds with being a good man.





	1. Prologue - A Burden to Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> Yada, yada, don't own, but you know all that. Don't really see the disclaimer thing around here so much which is rather facinating to me and only serves to make me feel very old (ah, good old FF.net, if anyone remembers that).
> 
> This is my first time in years putting my writing on any sort of public display, and I am honestly somewhat nervous, ha. I guess part of my worry is also trying a bit of a new writing technique that becomes more obvious with time but seemed all to appropriate for something with roots in comic books. Anyways, I'll be honest and say I'm not a romance writer by nature, but I like Romances in the background of stories as it informs the history and nature of some of the characters' actions towards each other and makes them all the more rich. If some of the smaller actions you see between people is considered highly romantic, then bonus? 
> 
> Also, just like the MCU movies in general, I am going to have fun taking concepts and characters from the Marvel comics and remixing them into some of my own ideas to create new ideas here. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Would really appreciate feedback and likes :)

_“King of the filthy, king of the fallen we live again.”_

 

\------

 

Everything in the darkness seemed both hidden and illuminated. Dark brown eyes searched the horizon in the twilight, filled with purple and blue. It was a strange sight for someone use to living in a metropolis. Still, the young woman sighed, eyes catching sight of a tree up ahead on the planes. It laid low to the ground, branches spreading wide.

 

In the distance she could spot it, the sight of three large, dark shadowy feline like creatures. She paused as the yellow eyes landed on her, judging, silently. Swallowing, she stared back at it unwaveringly, trying to calm down her thundering heart. She felt one of the creatures hit the ground when it jumped from the trees, closing in on her like prey. As the creature closed in on her, she felt the urge to run, but exhaled the breath she held, closing her eyes. What would happen would happen. She would not fight it.

 

There was a sound. A command. One she didn’t quite understand, but when she opened her eyes she could see the shadow of a form, a familiar one. She felt the words that were spoken and touched fingers to her lips. She felt a tear leave her eye, and she sighed, when she looked to the left. She sniffled, wiping at her face. She paused when she saw another giant feline creature. This one looked at her with amber eyes full of rage. Fear began to rise around her, like tendrils of a shadow threatening to wrap around her neck and strangle her. She tried to breathe, but her breath caught. She was choking, and feeling her vision blur.

 

“You seem like you have been moved by a powerful conversation with God today.”

 

The physical world had the tendency of rushing back to her far too quickly. It was always the smells first. Old limestone, the smell of sweat and tears. The smell of rot -- something was always in disrepair with this poor old Church. If she could concentrate really hard, and closed her eyes, she could smell something metallic too. Most who didn’t know would swear it was the old, aging brass of the structure, but Aisha knew this old Church well enough to know the smell was ash and blood. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of anguish but she let it guide her back.

 

Then it was the sounds. Her ears were ringing and it took her a short time to understand that the bell had just finished chiming the hour. It took her a moment but she also recognized the squeaking beside her. The speaker had just eased themselves into the wooden pew and it protested and groaned at the added weight.

 

Next was touch. Aisha was sitting cross legged, wrists on her knees, thumb and index forming an oh shape. The wood was unforgiving, hard and with a shift of her torso, squeaked. She opened her dark, mismatched eyes to look at the older woman who sat beside her. She was in a blouse and bolero jacket with a large hat. It was typical Sunday wear for the older woman. Aisha caught it then, the judgement in her eyes that was maternal, disgusted and at a loss all at once.

 

“Sister Katherine,” it was the first Aisha had spoke in some time, she knew it, and her voice croaked in protest, betraying her efforts not to seem intimidated, “it’s been too long. I’m so sorry about that. Tamsyn’s been asking if she could visit. How are you and Brother Langston doing?”

 

“My husband and I are just fine.” Came a clipped reply. Sister Katherine looked down her nose at Aisha, “We struggle to make bills, we forward what little we can to you. At least you have the decency not to keep asking for more. Unlike our good for nothing son who’s always broke.”

 

“I would never dream of it, Ma’am, my _Umama_ raised me better.” Aisha deflected, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. “I...was thankful you even offered anything.” She coughed awkwardly, “I -- um -- know things are hard for you and your husband too, since you can’t work.”

 

“Is that why you pray so much?” Sister Katherine asked. “Just who do you pray for?”

 

“I wonder that myself.” Aisha gave a small smile. She adjusted her glasses, the large, dark, square frames slipping almost immediately as she bowed her head. “You know,” she sniffled, wiping a tear from her cheek and bumping one of her septum. She ignored Sister Katherine’s harsh gaze on all her piercings and subsequent scowl. “That I don’t believe in your god, right?”

 

Sister Katherine’s lips thinned. “My granddaughter was _keen_ on reminding us of that and of her own Atheism. We raised her better, but she was always saying if there was a God, he failed us.”

 

“People like us, you mean?” Aisha chuckled ruefully. “That sounds just like her.”

“You were a terrible influence.” Sister Katherine hissed. “Really, gay? What a damn waste.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Aisha looked away, fidgeting with the spherical beads of her bracelet.

 

“If she had just married a man who could keep her in line~” Aisha cleared her throat. “Anyways, isn’t being gay illegal where you’re from?” Sister Katherine paused, “You’re from _Africa_ , right?”

 

Aisha cringed, but she forced a smile. “That really…” she paused, “depends on the country.”

“And what is it like in yours?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Aisha frowned. “I broke my poor mother’s heart running off here.”

“That so?” Sister Katherine was judgemental again.  “You sound ungrateful. Like our daughter.”

“You mean her mother?”

 

“Yes. Her. She said the same nonsense the rare times she wasn’t drunk out of her mind or high and leaving her poor daughter to care for her little brother and sister.”

 

“My love would tell me of those nights often, yes.”

 

“Love, hmm?” Sister Katherine sighed, “well, if you truly respect my granddaughter, you best not follow in her mother’s footsteps. Speak to your mother and fix what nonsense is between you.”

“Thing are more complicated than that, Sister Katherine.” Aisha was shakey and she looked around before licking her dry lips. “Besides, I don’t think I could go back, even if I wanted to.”

 

“Nonsense. A parent would rather their child back in their lives then gone, I would know.” Aisha tried not to react, but her shoulders were by her ears. “Anyways,” Sister Katherine reached out for her hand. The older woman clasped it between the two of hers gently. Aisha flinced. “you brought a light to our baby’s eyes that we haven’t seen in a very long time. Not since before her mother died. I may not agree with your _inclinations_ , honey, but I believe in love. Speaking of grand babies…” Katherine hummed, “how is Tamsyn?”

 

“She’s still sad.” Aisha exhaled, happy for the change in topic. “I think that’s normal though.”

“The counselling sessions?”

Aisha shivered. “Well. She cries, she talks. She tells me about them in detail. She rests.”

“What about your own?”

“Sister Katherine, I’d rather not.” Aisha looked skittish and pulled her hand away. “Sorry.”

 

“No need to be.” Sister Katherine shook her head. “How is school going for her?”

“Top of her class. Been helping her a lot. She’s making new friends. Tons of them.”

 

“What about _your_ schooling?” Sister Katherine tilted her head. “You are studying medicine, right? You’re so young too. If no one else, your father must be proud his baby girl is so talented.”

 

“Yes.” A smile ghosted on her lips. “Baba is very proud. School…” Aisha winced. “Is not as well as it could be. I have many responsibilities, but I’ll graduate. I can’t waste my opportunities.”

“I’m sorry.” Sister Katherine sighed. “Well, when you graduate, it won’t be your issue anymore.”

 

“No Ma’am.” Aisha levelled. “Tamsyn says she doesn’t want me to go anywhere. So I won’t.”

“So you’re not planning on returning to Africa? I’m sure they could use the doctors.”

“America has it’s problems, Sister Katherine, I’m aware,” Aisha, sighed, “but it’s home now.”

“What about your poor mother that you abandoned?”

 

“They did it first.” Sister Katherine looked at her with piercing eyes. “Look, I know it doesn’t make any of it right, or better or proper or whatever you want to thing, but you need to understand something,” Aisha dipped her head and was happy when her long dreadlocks fell into her eyes. “It was just me and Baba for a while. Just the two of us. Then I left too, but he was okay with it. He knew I had to do it.”

 

“Well, I guess it’s fine so long you don’t turn Tamsyn gay.” Sister Katherine cracked a smile.

“Not funny.” Aisha warned, but sighed. “Actually, it’s rather out of line.”

 

“I’m sorry...it’s hard to make friends with a stranger. Especially one who’s become essential to your family overnight.” Sister Katherine rose from her seat on the pew and gave Aisha a hug. She tried not to stiffen in the embrace, and took the envelope pushed into her hand. “Without you, we’d be lost. Thank you for stepping up while the rest of us fell apart.”

 

“I’m only doing what was asked of me. It’s nothing, Sister Katherine.”

 

“Taking care of a child at the drop of a hat is hardly nothing, you know.” Sister Katherine corrected. “To think that you love her that much to agree without hesitation speaks volumes about who you are.” Sister Katherine gave a small smile, “you may be on the young side, but you’re better than any husband she could have married. I can see that clearly now.”

 

The streets of New York was always far too packed and crammed with people. As someone who hated being touched, Aisha disliked it. Every time she had to navigate them, she was  aware of the need to resist the urge to put her hoodie up. It was likely to get her harassed by the cops who would then harass her even more when they found out she wasn’t American born. Still, she felt the overwhelming urge to hide, to not be seen. She felt her palms grow cold and slick with sweat when she passed a scene of several cops around a homeless man. She ducked her head and kept moving, forward, constantly forward, hoping not to be stopped or bothered.

 

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and she immediately wondered how quickly she could reach to the back of the waistband of her pants for her gun, but all thought on that idea disappeared when her would be assailant spoke one sentence.

 

**_“Who are you?”_ **

 

“My name is T’Challa, son of King T’Chaka, and the current King of Wakanda.” This was not the first time her brother spoke those words. She prayed he could forgive her for tuning him out then. Ever since their civil war occured, T’Challa had his eyes on opening up Wakanda, on learning from the world and in turn teaching so that greater understanding could be achieved. This left Shuri both elated at reaching out to other brilliant minds and, well, frankly busy.

 

Time did not wait for anyone, and she was busy juggling competing priorities, enough to see that her personal life took a backseat. It wasn’t the first time, it probably wouldn’t be the last. If she was perfectly honest, she almost preferred it. Her lab was her home most of the time, and it kept her mind off of missing her father and those of her friends who were talented enough to have been going on their first War Dog missions. After all, young agents tended to blend in a lot better depending on where in the world they were deployed.

 

“Shuri.” Her mother warned. “Could you at least look like you’re paying attention?” Ramonda’s hushed voice was sharp, but her expression betrayed nothing to the outside world. When someone looked there way she smiled and Shuri smiled as well too before uttering a response.

 

“Sorry mother.” Shuri uttered. Ramonda casted a glance to Shuri’s arm to see her fidgeting with a Kimoyo Bead and in turn allowed a frown to ghost on her face for a moment.

 

“Expecting a message?”

“No.” Shuri answered too quickly.

 

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Ramonda sighed, catching on. Mother’s intuition could be a pain. The look Ramonda sent Shuri told her to explain herself, but then she cast a glance back to T’Challa, a non verbal request to Shuri to continue the conversation later. Shuri sighed, watching some of her braids fall into her eyes as she returned to listening.

 

“We are serious in our commitment to the world. That is why as yet another step to displaying our commitment to the global commitment, I promise Wakanda’s support to the world, and the first display of this commitment will be my participation with the Avengers and their mission.”

 

Shuri was all too glad when the press conference ended but before she could say anything, Ayo was leading Ramonda and her to a private room. The door opened, and her brother sat there, his face grave while Okoye seemed strangely pensive and Ross looked exasperated.

 

“Look,” Ross spoke in that tone that Shuri knew she wouldn’t like what he had to say, “I still say that if the global community is going to keep asking you _‘why now’,_ it’s best to be transparent.”

 

“Absolutely not.” Okoye looked frazzled. Her expression grave, “opening up to the world like this is a tremendous risk my King! I do not disagree with your judgement but to do so as quickly as we have and then to openly admit that our leadership was recently on shaky ground is unwise.”

 

Ross sighed. “I get that, but right now more secrets does not sow a lot of trust in Wakanda.”

“Well what reason do we have to trust America, Europe or any of the others given their history?”

 

“Okoye,” T’Challa raised his hand as he spoke softly, “I thank you for your passionate dedication. I want you to know that you have been seen and you have been heard.” Okoye still seemed on edge, Shuri noticed, but she paused now and T’Challa waited for her to speak, but when she didn’t and relaxed, he continued, “Mr. Ross. My general is quite right. We cannot open up to the world in a way that neglects Wakanda or puts us at risk of being further destabilized just when we are establishing ourselves.”

 

“I know, but if we’re going to build trust with the international community~” Ross was cut off.

 

“And if they realize the cause of our Civil War was a succession crisis and takeover of the throne by a man who wanted to send powerful weapons across the globe to destabilize world nations, how many of them would consider Wakanda a threat to the global community just for out secrecy? How many of them would not hesitate to attack us now while we still rebuild?”

 

“Surely, they would understand. Things change. You’re making amends.”

 

“Perhaps some would, but many of them would attack us for the opportunity to have our weapons for themselves?” T’Challa sighed, steepling his hands. “Perhaps, in the future, Mr. Ross, we can seriously consider telling the United Nations, but now, while we are still healing from a war that turned brother against sister -- I cannot tell them now. If not for our safety, then for the sake of our people being seen to by our own law and trials. Please understand.”

 

“I don’t like it, but,” Ross sighed, shaking his head, “but I’ll go along with it. I’d rather you are the ones controlling all those Vibranium weapons after all.”

 

“Us over the USA?” Shuri smiled. “Wouldn’t that be considered treason for you, Mr. CIA?”

Ross gave her a sharp look. “Listen. I love my country. I also know our track record. I’m no fool.”

“True. I’d be surprised if the United States _didn’t_ jump at the opportunity, honest.” Shuri noted.

 

“Shuri,” T’Challa called out, and she sighed dramatically, “Ross is taking a risk. For us. Please do not mock him. His involvement with Wakanda is putting him in a very precarious position.”

 

Shuri sighed. “Fine. Thank you I guess.” She smirked playfully. “Colonizer.”

“You’re welcome…” Ross paused for a moment. A moment too long, “I think.”

 

“Ross,” T’Challa leaned back in the chair he sat in, “would you be so kind as to give us a moment. There is something regarding the upcoming trials that I would like to speak about with the others.” Ross hesitated, but then nodded. When he left the room, everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Another awkward silence fell. Okoye was the first to break it.

 

“Americans.” Okoye scoffed.

“He’s getting better.” Shuri quipped. “For a white boy, anyways.”

 

T’Challa inhaled sharply, then exhaled. “Shuri. Okoye. I swear. The two of you make this more difficult than it needs to be sometimes.”

 

“My King,” Okoye hissed, “you must understand. A few months ago a man _from_ America turned our country upside down. We nearly lost you. We nearly lost the Princess.”

“And that man we just sent out of the room is an American who _helped_ us.” T’Challa countered.

 

“Actually, if he didn’t have an American style cockpit, he probably would have just stayed in my lab and waited on us, like a puppy.” Shuri smiled.

 

“Shuri…” Ramonda warned. “Now is not the time for joking.”

 

“Though, she isn’t wrong my King,” Okoye noted, “Had we no tools to give him, would he have put himself out there on the line? We nearly lost Wakanda as we know it, and for what?”

 

“Who knows if we haven’t already lost Wakanda.” Ayo spoke up quietly from her corner. All eyes darted to her and she looked off, elsewhere. T’Challa sighed.

 

“I knew my decision would be met with…” he paused, “resistance, but please believe me when I say that I honestly believe this is the best direction for us all. I understand the continued distrust. I worried for weeks over this, but it seems the Panther God has heard my worries as well.”

 

“Has Bast spoken to you?” Ramonda asked softly.

 

“A few times about a great deal of things.” T’Challa folded his hands together, gathering himself in that quiet manner of his as he searched for the words, “from the fact that we need someone to pick up where Zuri left off in spiritual affairs to our current state.”

 

“What has Bast told you?” Ramonda pressed.

 

“Bast also believes we have stayed in the shadows for too long. Many things are going to have to change, and I want to start off by saying that normally, the proper process for what happened with a rebelling tribe is for prominent leaders to be executed.”

 

Shuri knew exactly why T’Challa wanted privacy now. Her eyes flickered to Okoye who stiffened, but her face went blank in that way she did when she was warring with her emotions and her duties. She had seen that face a few times before. Lately it had been an expression she felt Okoye had been wearing far too often. She exhaled, feeling her breath catch again.

 

“Tradition should be kept when it makes sense,” T’Challa continued, “and disregarded when it no longer serves a beneficial purpose to the people. That is what I believe is the most correct way to be King. This may be one of those cases. Killing great leaders in our country during a time that will surely be filled with incredible growth does not seem to make sense.”

 

“We don’t have to open our borders.” Okoye stated softly.

“Yes, but if not by our terms, then it will be by someone else’s.” T’Challa noted. “I may not be able to make promises, but the Border Tribe’s contributions will be weighed with their crimes.”

 

“And their leader?” Okoye’s voice was thick and strained, “what about him?”

“W’Kabi is dear to me.” T’Challa admitted softly, “the real question is, can he allow his heart to move past the revenge that consumes him?” Shuri sent a glance to Okoye who didn’t seem comforted by the news but put on a brave face. She would have to follow up on that later.

 

“I also wanted to say there is ongoing discussions on what to do with the War Dogs who agreed with N’Jadaka’s plans. One group has stopped responding to our messages and gone Stray.”

 

Okoye frowned. “Whom?”  
“Our team in New York.”


	2. Trapped Inside a Burning Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> W'Kabi and Okoye have a long awaited and much needed chat.  
> T'Challa finds Shuri's answers for moving forward is grounded in restoring what's lost and giving up on what can't be recovered.  
> Aisha has a very bad day.

_“_ _I recognize your false confidence and calculated promises all in your conversation.”_

\-----

 

“So you’re siding with him on this.” W’Kabi sat in the dark of his jail cell, eying Okoye. He was keeping his distance on her. Purposefully, hurtfully, keeping to the far corner. “I see.” Okoye tried not to roll her eyes yet again at him. He sounded petulant, sulky, angry, just like a child. She leaned on the wall nearest to the door and watched him grow defeated when she did not take the bait. She knew he was taunting her. If she gave in, he won. That’s all there was to it.

 

“My love,” she spoke patiently, druding patience from depths she didn’t know she had, “I care about you. I also care about Wakanda and our King. Your actions nearly took both from us.”

 

“I know,” W’Kabi sighed, looking away, “so what happens if he kills me?”

“He wouldn’t kill you.” Okoye noted softly, looking away. “An executioner would.”

“He would make the order. The blood is on his hands.”

“If it makes you feel better, I will volunteer.”

“So my King fails me, and I get executed for it by my wife. That makes sense.” W’Kabi snorted.

“I do not disagree but,” Okoye frowned, “don’t think I’ll let you pretend to be a victim here.”

“That seems a little cruel for us both, don’t you think?”

“Maybe, but as Wakanda’s General, and your wife, I cannot think of a more suitable person.”

“What a mess we made then.” Their eyes locked. W’Kabi chuckled sadly. Okoye sighed.

 

“I should have never encouraged you the both.” Okoye stared at her feet. “Neither the King to take on Claue out of an emotional impulse to be loyal to you, nor you to indulge your consuming desire for revenge. If I had done neither and listened to the elders and Queen Mother and encouraged our King to be a King and not a Warrior at that time~”

 

“You may be my love, Okoye,” W’Kabi smiled gently at her, “but you are not my keeper. You take care of me when I need it, but you do not make my decisions for me. I chose this. I did this.”

 

He took the wind from her sails, flattened the little voice in her head that wanted to believe that as the General of the Military and the country’s greatest fighter she was somehow responsible for him. Responsible for his actions, for the rage she could still see and the pain in his eyes, but W’Kabi took it away. He was looking away from her now, speaking softly.

 

“When I was a younger man, maybe, I’d let you do that but…” He shook his head. “I made quite the mess have I not? I am not yet sure I regret what I was trying to do, but that means all the more that whatever T’Challa decides is apt punishment for me is just that.”

 

“W’Kabi…” She inhaled, then let it go, “I promise I’ll~”

 

“The only thing I want you to promise me,” W’Kabi began, “is that if it comes to an execution, you’ll continue on being your wonderful self. Be happy. Love the people that you do. Look for _her_. Make sure she doesn’t become just as bitter as I did.” There it was. The topic that they always avoided that hung heavy between them. It was laid out for Okoye to come and take it.

 

“I heard she was last assigned with the War Dogs in New York.” She finally spoke.

“Yes. I did too.” W’kabi sighed. “How did I know you were keeping close tabs on her as well?”

 

“None of them have responded to orders.” Okoye found the words flowing from her mouth, unable to stop them now. She needed to get them off her chest. “Not since T’Challa returned.”

 

W’kabi’s face darkened. “Did they reply at all to any of T’Challa’s commands?”

“Yes. Just one thing. _‘We will overcome.’_ That’s all they sent.”

 

**_“Oh no.”_ **

 

“What is it?” T’Challa looked over to his sister who frowned at the tiny tetrainium. The leaves were wilted. Weak and dead. She sighed and marked a note on a nearby tablet. Another failure.

 

“The Heart Shaped Herb -- I’ve been trying to use what we could get our hands on -- just scraps of DNA really. I’ve been trying to synthesize other plants to bear the same properties, expose them to Vibranium but…” She sighed. “It’s not going well.”

 

“The fact at all that you were able to think of this as a possible solution is something. It’s a start.”

 

“Yes, but,” Shuri sighed scratching her head before holding her pen, “in the future...how will the next Black Panther gain their abilities?”

 

“I’m sure Bast is more powerful than even we mortals comprehend. If nothing more, the Panther God will be able to give us an answer when we are in need of it.”

 

“Maybe.” Shuri hummed, “I am certain Bast is that great, but you know how I think, brother. Gods are mighty and powerful, but we need to be able to manage ourselves without them. A blink in their eyes could be hundreds of years for us. They could miss so much. It’s best not to be overly reliant on our God, no matter how benevolent.”

 

“Some might think that about vibranium.” T’Challa noted, “that our reliance is a weakness.”

“True.” Shuri frowned even more. “I’ve thought that too. I’ve had a lot of time to think, really.”

 

T’Challa looked at her, tilting his head to the side. She knew that look. It was the one he gave when he was begging her to tell him more. She was his kid sister after all. With sixteen years between them, being twice her age, he was both brother and sometimes parent for her, especially when their father had to be gone for long stretches of time.

 

“Shuri, quiet and pensive? Who would have thought.”

 

“Oh shut up!” In the end though, doting as he was, T’Challa was always an annoying big brother first. She huffed mockingly, but smiled a little bit in appreciation. “Okoye came to me recently. She had an awful lot to say about you, brother. Can’t you go one day without giving her worry?”

 

“I’m not surprised.” T’Challa frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m trying to be patient with her, I’ll be honest, but it is not lost on anyone that she has reasons not to be particularly fond of America.”

“Brother, has Okoye ever let her opinions or grudges stop her from doing what she must?”

“No but~”

 

“Then have a little faith in her.” Shuri smiled at him. “Besides, I don’t see why she wouldn’t take matters with America a little too personally, given circumstances.” Shuri chuckled a little, but it was a little strained. “I mean, she told me stories. M’Koni got up suddenly one day and went _‘see you I’m gonna be in a spy in America, bye’_ with little to no warning.”  

 

“I remember.” T’Challa noted solemnly, something dark flashing in his gaze. “Okoye refused to see M’Koni off. The circumstance behind that made for difficult times between her and W’Kabi.”

“It must have been fun being between those two when it happened.” Shuri snickered. T’Challa gave her a severe look in response. “She did give me some good advice recently though.”

 

“What kind of advice?”

“Relationship advice.” Shuri flashed him a small smile.

“Oh? Not even to come to your big brother for help?”

 

“No offence, but you aren’t exactly the role model I want to follow.” Shuri pointed out cheekily, “I mean, how long did it take you to make things with Nakia work again?”

T’Challa rolled his eyes. “It’s complicated with us. It means I’m experienced with challenges.”

“Uh huh, if you say.” Shuri’s flippant reply came with side eye. “That’s why she’s where again?”

“One of our American outreach centers.” T’Challa answered. “We worked it out! Didn’t you see?”

“Sure.”

“We kissed and everything!” T’Challa continued to protest. “Okoye was even there!”

“Oh Okoye told me about that.” Shuri was giggling. “She said it was cute.”

 

“Cute? She said it was…” T’Challa pressed a hand to his face, “Just what kind of so called relationship advice could Okoye give that I can’t?” Shuri lifted up her Kimoyo bracelet. A display showed, a long line of texts in Wakandian. Each of them being sent by Shuri alone.

 

“That it might be better to just give up, move on and forget about them.”

 

T’Challa’s lips pressed together and he shook his head. “Shuri,” he spoke softly. He reached for her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, “my dear little sister, if this person of yours, if he’s really important to you, why give up so soon? There can be many reasons people go silent.”

 

“I trust Okoye on this one _way_ more than you.” Shuri stressed with a laugh.

He gasped at her. “Again, what does Okoye get about these things that I don’t?”

 

“What it’s like to be a girl who loves another girl.” Shuri spoke casually.

“Yes, well -- wait!” T’Challa froze. He could see something flash on Shuri’s face. Uncertainty.

“Look. I didn’t mention it to you or Baba or mother because it never was really all that important.”

“That’s fine.” T’Challa spoke softly. “You tell us when you needed to. I’m not upset.”

 

“I didn’t realize how much I cared. Then she took a War Dog assignment. All of a sudden I didn’t mind being in my lab all the time -- I mean, I never did, but, she was one of the only people who didn’t treat me differently for being who I was. I mean, she _did_ treat me as special, but in the right way, you know?” Shuri looked away from his gaze and frowned. “It got lonely without her.”

 

T’Challa nodded mutely, then spoke again, equally as soft. “So why not Nakia, or Ayo or~”

“Because they don’t know her like me and Okoye do.”

“When did you meet this girl?”

“Years and years. When we both were small.”

 

“Was it when Okoye was your guard and not yet the General?” Shuri nodded. Something flashed in T’Challa’s eyes. “Ah. I know exactly who you mean then.” He hesitated for some reason that Shuri couldn’t discern. “Kobya, am I right?”

 

“Well, it’s not hard to guess,” Shuri noted, “how many children were around me growing up who didn’t fawn over me for being the princess or got weirded out by how intelligent I was?”

 

“Few.”

 

“Exactly.” Shuri noted. “I love our people but you know how the children of the chiefs of the tribes can be. Many of their parents hope they marry royal so the children grow up the same. Kobya was never like that. Probably Okoye and W’Kabi’s influence, but it meant a lot to me.”

 

“It seems even in Wakanda we have those who only care about power. I’m sorry Shuri.” T’Challa inhaled and held his breath for a moment before exhaling. “I will keep that in mind. You mentioned this...person of yours, she is a War Dog now, correct?” Shuri nodded. “Tell me what you can about her. What is her call tag? Who is her handler?” Shuri raised the Kimoyo beads and began going through the interface.

 

“I know you say all the time we have to be careful,” Shuri began, a note of worry, “not to do anything that could tip other countries off that our people don’t belong there, deep cover stuff.”

 

“Go on.” T’Challa’s mouth was drawn tight.

 

“I kept in contact with her when I shouldn’t. She couldn’t respond all the time, but, I figured with all of the advancements I made, I could do it very discreetly without getting either of us in trouble. Every few months at one point she would respond. Then about three years ago she said this would be the last time she could for an unspecified time.” T’Challa’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. Shuri caught his look. “I know, I know, it was stupid to be overconfident in our technology. When Baba died though, and everything with Killmonger happened and some of the War Dogs joined, I tried reaching out but got no response. Please tell me brother, when we find her, that you won’t punish her for breaking the rules. I led her to that.”

 

“You have my word.” He saw a number flash onto the sand like display and he frowned even more. “That’s her call number?” Shuri nodded. “Then the last place she was...this isn’t good.”

 

“What?” Shuri sounded alarmed. “What is it?”

“That registration number.” He inhaled, then exhaled. “She was New York.”

“Was?” Shuri echoed, voice tight, “brother, what do you know?”

“That our War Dogs there went Stray when we told them to not to follow N'Jadaka’s order.”

 

**_“Do you think something bad happened to her?”_ **

 

“I don’t know Little Bee, I just found her like this.” Came the honeyed voice in response to the question when the door rolled open and bright eyes fell on her and Aisha, worried, concerned, fearful. The young girl who spoke her concern frowned, then backed away from the door to let her in. “I’ll linger for a little bit, make sure she’s fine, is that okay?”

 

“Big sister’s not gonna like that Ms. Josephine.”

“Well,” Josie rolled her eyes as she shifted the arm draped over her shoulders. “Your sister is just going to have to learn not everything goes the way she wants it to, my sweet Tamsyn.”

 

Tamsyn’s dark eyes looked at the older woman, then young woman she had in her grasp. Aisha’s body was limp. She was barely unconscious almost seemingly drunk. It was odd, because in all of the weeks and months and years of knowing her, Tamsyn had never known Aisha to even so much as occasionally drink. Josie grunted with the effort of getting them both through the door without dropping them. Tamsyn watched her curiously.

 

“Why didn’t you pick her up?” Tamsyn mimed an action where she was carrying bridal style.

“Because if we bumped into trouble, how am I going to get to my gun?”

“You would just drop her on the ground?”

 

“Better one of us getting out alive at least then both dead, little bee.” Tamsyn frowned at her and when she frowned at the girl in return, she pulled up the collar of her shirt, hiding her face behind the lilac coloured fabric. Josie rolled her eyes as she kicked the door closed and wondered if it would just rattle off it’s damn hinges. She sniffed at the clean, but tiny apartment in constant disrepair and looked around. Chicken nuggets were sitting on the strange, old, olive green oven. The appliance, like the decor was clearly from the eighties or seventies and to be honest, Josie was impressed any of it was still working. By the paltry food offering was little note in Tamsyn’s handwriting. The girl made dinner for her ‘sister’ it seemed, most likely to help pass time when Aisha’s absence grew long and worrying for the small child.

 

“Her room?” Josie asked sharply.

“Left.” Tamsyn peaked her head out from the fabric, looking to Josie. She nodded.

“Lock the front door please.” She called to the girl as she dragged Aisha into the room. She threw Aisha unceremoniously on the mattress on the ground, not caring when half of Aisha’s body hit the bare wood with a hard thud, earning a hiss. The young woman groaned.

 

“You’re lucky nobody mugged or beat your broke ass.” Josie scoffed, leaning on the wall.

“Aww,” Aisha’s dark eyes settled, unfocused, on Josie’s sharp figure, “my own personal guardian angel,” her glasses were askew, and Aisha fixed them, straightening them out so she could look over Josie with a more critical eye. “I’m so bloody blessed.”

 

“Don’t even start.” Josie glanced over her shoulder, “seriously, just dump the kid and the school charade.” Her voice dropped. “We have real work to focus on. There is a King with no spine.”

 

Aisha covered her face with an arm, disregarding her glasses. “Tamsyn deserves better than to be thrown out like that that. Especially when we were powerless to help her big sister!”

 

“Aisha was never one of us.” Josie was still scowling. “Not really. She took someone from us. Remember, Malaika?”

 

“She had skin like ours. She shed tears like ours.” Aisha countered heatedly, “She felt rage like ours. She wanted the future we want. If we’re taking up arms in response to the pain we see here, we cannot toss the people here aside. That makes us no better than the whites here.”

 

“This drivel again?” Josie grumbled. “Look, I told you getting this closely involved with Black Americans given how unstable their situation was incredibly stupid. You never listen.”

 

“Thanks Mom.” Aisha rolled over, closing her eyes. “Fuck you too.”

“I’m your elder. Watch it.” Josie snarled at her. “Or I’ll put a lick in your ass.”

“Of course, Mom.” Aisha hummed, “Quick to deal out punishment, reluctant for commitment.”

“You’re too damn rude.” Josie snorted. “Did you forget we’re here because of what you asked?”

“Just playing your own goddamn game.” Aisha shot back. “Now get out of my apartment.”

 

“Do you even know how many hours it’s been?” Aisha paused, looking to the window. “Or why the hell I’m in this apartment?” When she was in the church, it was just after morning mass. Now, the sky was pitch black save the street lights that streamed in. Aisha gave pause for now.

 

“What happened?”

“That child called me.” Josie pointed towards the kitchen, “because she hadn’t heard from you at all today. I thought I made it perfectly clear not to drag me into your personal messes.”

 

“I was going to meet up with you and then…” Aisha tried to think back, but her head only hurt.

“That was irresponsible. You are a capable fighter. We trained you to~”

“I don’t have a warrior’s heart! Even when I was a girl that was clear. You know that as well as I. Besides, this damn mission was only supposed to be a reconnaissance.”

 

“Shameful.” Josie said something else that was hard to parse out, but there was a click in the words. She kissed her teeth, the sound prolonged and disapproving. “Does your head hurt?”

 

“Yes.” Aisha scowled now, propping herself up against the wall, “what the hell happened?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing you can change now.”

 

“ _Amai_ !” The word flowed from her with such natural ease that Josie looked at her wide eyed, then turned away. “Don’t just shut me out because I’m inconvenient to you again, _Amai_!”

 

“ _Amai_? You still call me that, huh?” Josie chuckled bitterly. “I’ll be leaving. Get some rest.”

 

“What the hell, Josie!” She rushed to stand. Everything spun and she hit the ground again, nauseated, and now trembling uncontrollably. Josie glanced over her shoulder, her lips pursed, her hands curled into fists, “that’s all you ever do, Amai! You leave!”

 

“The Panther God had plans for us all, Honey Bee.” Josie sighed, shaking her head, “forgive me, but just like your Umama, you just don’t get it. Neither does our King it seems. Opening up Wakanda is not the issue. It’s being passive. There are people who would kill to just not be powerless and yet we still stand idle.” Josie sucked in a breath and then exhaled. “I thought the message we got to be on standby for weapons was finally a sign that Wakanda had learned, but then that nerve just up and left.” Josie huffed. “Peace on terms of the UN is just more passivity.”

 

Aisha frowned, finding the alarm clock. Without thinking, she ripped it out the wall and whipped it at Josie’s head. The woman flawlessly dodged it, frowning, unimpressed.

 

“Be at our next meeting.” Josie’s soft tones shed to something harsh and cold. “Just because you’ve chosen to overextend yourself doesn’t mean you can slack on our expectations, got it?”

 

“Yes commander.” Josie’s footsteps faded, and when the door shut and she heard the lock put in place, she sighed, covering her face with her hands, feeling another wave of nausea hit her hard. Pushing the glasses high on her forehead, she pressed her palms to her eyes hoping to quell the dizziness, and the strange feeling that she was somewhat detached from her body.

 

“What in Bast’s name happened to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming for a weekly update around here. Unless my poor spoonie energy levels suddenly increase and I manage to get a whole bunch of chapters ahead, but with working 40+ hour weeks I think that's unlikely. Sorry. :( Appreciate the patience though.


	3. God Know My Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okoye finds some titles stick, even if what made you grow into them has been gone for some time.  
> Josie tries to find peace with the fact that Aisha is at times more about the big sticks and less about treading softly.  
> W'Kabi wants to move forward but anger is a hell of a thing and earning forgiveness isn't always possible.  
> Tamsyn is cute and curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy religious holiday of some sort that you may or may not celebrate. Here's a Chapter for those of you lucky to have Friday off and be doing stuff with people.  
> 

_ “Are you on ten yet? Wait.” _

\-----

 

“Queen Mother.” Okoye crossed her arms and bowed her head. Ramonda returned the gesture, then broke the x formed by her arms. Okoye a few seconds after followed suit. Ramonda smiled at Okoye, then gestured. General fell into step with her. “I take it you will be joining the trial?”

 

“Yes, Okoye.” Ramonda glided across the floor as they made their way towards the throne room. Ramonda kept sending glances her way before speaking again. “However this all ends, we all want you to know: should you need to take time, no one will stop you.”

“Thank you Queen Mother.” They fell into step and Ramonda continued silently before speaking up again, soft, pleadingly almost, concerned and worried.

 

“There’s another matter, of course.” Okoye froze and Ramonda decided to speak further, “My son has reasons to believe my cousin’s daughter, M’Koni of the River Tribe, is with the New York War Dogs.” Ramonda stopped, and Okoye did the same, her face carefully constructed. The mother of the king seemed worried. “I don’t know M’Koni terribly well. She was but a girl when I got married and left for the capital with T’Chaka. She’s much closer to your age actually.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I am also aware that you know M’Koni far better than I.” Ramonda folded her hands, looking at Okoye. “So you may have insight as to why she is defying her King’s orders with the others.”

“I believe it is for similar reasons that W’Kabi has as well.” Okoye remarked ruefully, adding with a soft laugh, “it’s why they fought. M’Koni and W’Kabi are so alike in some ways that they often fight over some of the most petty things. Especially after...” Okoye suddenly sighed, trailing off.

 

“That is unfortunate.” Ramonda looked about and stepped closer, “speaking of those close in age, I noticed Shuri has been…” she trailed off, “distracted lately. Worried, really.”

“Oh?” It was faked surprise. Okoye began walking a little quicker, hoping they’d reach the throne room before this conversation could find it’s conclusion. It was hardly how she thought Shuri wanted her mother wanted to find out about her. “By what, exactly?”

 

“I’m no fool, Okoye.” Ramonda’s words held several meanings as she caught Okoye by the bicep. She stared the bald woman down. “I know how Shuri is. I am her mother. She does not need to speak her heart to me if she fears what the world will think because my own heart sees her already. I’m sure you understand that too, being a mother yourself.”

 

“I’m not sure I can really call myself that anymore.”

“That is silly, and we both know it. You are a mother to Shuri in many ways, Okoye, and to your own even if they are gone.” There was a pained pause at those words before she continued her thoughts. “Anyways,” Ramonda smoothed her clothes, “three years ago, my husband, much to my disagreement, sent a number of talented teens undercover as students for a long term War Dog assignment across various cities in America. One of them was your late daughter, I’m sure I don’t have to say that because you know the pain your heart still feels quite well.”

 

“I do.” Okoye breathed softly. “I hold no animosity, Queen Mother. I raised our daughter to love and to fight for Wakanda. So when our King called for her, she listened. I was proud. I still am.”

“I still believe they were too young for such a heavy task.” Ramonda noted, “But what is done is done. Several of them, like your daughter, were friends of Shuri. I do believe one of the surviving girls is the one who Shuri worries for.” Okoye pressed her lips together, refusing to say anything.

 

“Your silence says everything I need to know. I believe Shuri has been trying to get in contact with this girl since T’Chaka’s death and has heard nothing. That is why she’s worried. T’Challa, after the trial, is going to intercept the New York Faction. He believes it may be best to have them return to Wakanda to debrief on what happened and if necessary, make them stand trial.”

 

Okoye closed her eyes and inhaled. “You want me to go as well, I take it?”

“For the sake of Shuri. For yourself too. It may give you closure on M’Koni.”

Okoye bowed her head. “A little closure at a time like this might be too much, Queen Mother.”

“It’s inescapable though.” Ramonda closed her eyes. “The sun must set on all things, Okoye.”

“Even if you’re not ready for it?” Okoye questioned.

“Sometimes?” Ramonda offered, “Especially so.” 

 

**_“I think that’s what scares me.”_ **

 

Josie sighed from her corner at a small table. She shifted the lamp she was working under. The rest of the lights were dim in the space, but bright enough to see. In the background was a television that was so quiet it was almost mute. Josie looked to the glowing screen to the news message that flashed by. ‘Missing Officer’ was the tagline, showing a smiling face in uniform.

 

“What scares you, Ashanti?” Josie sighed and calmly put another pin for her pistol in place.

“The idea that the King could be coming for us any bloody second.” Ashanti brushed a wavy mass of hair from her face, the long flowing weave in her way. Eventually, she tied it back, looking at the scene. “Seriously, even if we decided to play it safe, our actions here…”

 

“Is it T’Challa you fear,” Josie spoke really quietly, “or who will most likely be with him?”

Ashanti huffed, arms crossed. “Don’t mock me. Besides, that’s rife with landmines for you too.”

“I fear neither the Dora Milaje or our so called King.” Josie carefully turned the gun in her hands.

“Bullshit.” Ashanti’s nose wrinkled. “What Malaika does should make us fear them  _ and  _ the pigs!”

“Look,” Josie looked up, “if T’Challa comes, or another cop, we do what is necessary. Simple.”

“I know, it’s just that,” Ashanti frowned wrinkling her nose, her red lips vibrant as she spoke with disdain, “they sound desperate. What in the Goddess’ name happened to our home?”

“The obvious answer: someone with a spine led Wakanda.” Josie stated simply. “Now, how T’Challa wrangled control back from him, only the Goddess knows, I guess.” Josie frowned when she saw another punch thrown before her and heard a brief yelp of pain from a man. 

 

“Cry and you get worse!” Came the bark of a third woman’s voice. The man whimpered.

 

“Like who?” Ashanti pressed, wincing at the scene just feet from them.

“The Border Tribe?” Josie purposed. “Or the Jabari, perhaps?” 

“No, no way, not the Jabari.” Ashanti chuckled nervously. “They wanted us to remain closed off forever. M’Baku wouldn’t bother. As for W’Kabi, is he not T’Challa’s friend?” Ashanti huffed. 

“Remember Ulysses Klaue?” Josie closed her eyes, listening to the sound of metal lashing against flesh. “It is a mark of shame for the Border Tribe and a pained wound for it’s leader. You know how our people are about shame.” Josie hummed as she clicked the final piece of the pistol she was cleaning into place. “If T’Challa is like T’Chaka, W’Kabi will not sit idle forever.”

 

“Yes, but he’s hardly a leading man.” Ashanti huffed, wincing again at the sound of another strike of metal to flesh. Josie rolled her eyes. “He wouldn’t do it on his own, surely?”

“Maybe.” Josie agreed, folding her hands. “But he was always a man content to follow until he was given reason to doubt who he follows.” She opened her eyes to the scene, to Gabe and Aisha circling around a chair, and in it, anchored by handcuffs was an officer. He glared, the sight broken by a split lip and purple swollen eye that made him seem like he was squinting.

 

“If you can glare at us, detective, you can speak.” Josie noted, crossing her legs.

“Like I’d tell you deranged animals a damn thing!” Josie sighed. So it was like that then.

“Malaika…” Josie called, her voice filled with dismay, “if you could be so kind?”

 

“You know that boy I mentioned, detective?” Aisha’s glasses flashed in the dim light, and her piercings glinted in the dark. “He didn’t even get a chance to scream when the gun went off.”

“Wait, stop!” Josie saw the chains wrap around him. Something cracked. “Please!” He wheezed.

“Every breath you take is mercy.” Even Josie found herself having to look away when she saw the glint of metal and heard the sounds of rattling chains hitting flesh. Then another crack. Bone. Her hands tightened into fists, her eyes landing on Gabe who was still pacing around the scene.   

 

“Tell me if I should stop her, Commander. This guy’s lookin’ pretty rough.”

“It’s fine, Gabe, we have the supplies to patch her up today. If she wants to kill him, let her.”

 

Gabe froze, looking to the Detective with a pitiful look. “He’s married, y’know. With kids.”

“And my little brother didn’t even get the chance to date,” Aisha threw back, “your point?”

“Look, you sure this is the way you wanna go ‘bout things Mz. Malaika?” Gabe questioned. He barely dodged a swing from Aisha, watching the chains instead land against the detective.

 

“Tell me Gabe,” Josie called to the young man, “When the King comes for us he may very well decide we will all die and never see our home again. Are you going to beg for mercy?”

“No. I mean, isn’t he the coward?” Gabe threw back, “staying in his palace for years while kids kept his throne safe for him, then tellin’ us what to do after all we saw and he didn’t?”

“Exactly.” Josie hummed. “Remember what made you disobey your King.” Josie rose from her seat and walk over to see the bloody mess that was the detective. His head hung low, eyes on the ground, too injured or tired to bother lifting it. “That goes for you as well, Honey Bee.”

 

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,  _ Amai _ .” Aisha declared with a hiss. Josie came closer to inspect the bludgeoning, ignoring Ashanti’s strangled noises of dismay each time another hit made. 

“Remember what you told me, Honey Bee. What you said when Aisha died,” Josie let her hand rest on Aisha’s forearm as she looked into her eyes. Most times it was like looking into emptiness. Today it was pure rage. “That you won’t let yourself be powerless anymore?”

 

“Damn right.” Aisha whispered.

“Then keep in mind: a woman who’s rage is her beauty is truly blessed.” 

“Yes Commander.” Aisha paused. “Do you think if I call out in rage that the Goddess will hear?”

Josie hesitated. “You should ask yourself, would Aisha think of you as being strong?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m only suggesting that restraint and letting go can be its own kind of strength.”

 

That anger hit a peak. Josie took a few steps back, looking to Gabe, her eyes widened when Aisha jerked away, her hands tightening on the bloody chain. Aisha spun it, and just as she was about to whip it at Josie, Gabe stepped in between them, grabbing Aisha by the forearm. There was a struggle. The chain hit a light breaking it. Josie stepped back at the scene now cast in almost complete blackness. Ashanti took a sharp breath.

 

“Be careful!” Ashanti called.

“Try not to hurt her!” Josie called out. There was a faint groan from the detective and Josie decided to shelve her concern for that clusterfuck of a mess for later. There were punches thrown. The chain was dropped. Aisha screamed. She had to think of something quick.

 

“What would she think if she could see you, Honey Bee?” Josie asked. “Do you think Aisha would really be proud of you now? Picking fights with the police? Beating someone to death just because they wear that goddamn uniform?” 

“That son of a bitch put his hands on me first!” Aisha cussed. “This is retribution!”

“So?” Josie posed. “As far as I can tell, you look fine. Him, however…” There. She could tell by Gabe’s grin of victory in the darkness. Aisha had hesitated, the comments getting under her skin. The hesitation was long enough for Gabe to pin her and throw her against the wall.

 

“Let go of me! Let go!” Aisha screamed, “I can’t -- I can’t~”

“No way little lady. I think you’re a little too~” Gabe froze mid sentence, “shit. Commander?”

 

Josie tapped Gabe on the shoulder and he eased up. Josie was soon given an armful of the teenaged girl and sank to her knees. It was odd seeing Aisha like this, prone, scared, shaking like a leaf, practically babbling. Josie brushed messy dreads from her face and placed a gentle kiss on her temple. She watched as Aisha mouthed words voicelessly, and looked to Ashanti.

 

“Did you prepare it?” Josie asked softly as she felt bloodied hands clasp onto her clothes.

“Yes Commander.” Ashanti moved in closer before kneeling beside Josie. She latched onto an arm and watched Josie hold Aisha as still as she could as the younger woman tried to twist and turn and thrash. As quickly as she could, she let the needle pierce flesh and depressed the plunger. In moments, Aisha grew lethargic. Ashanti watched as Josie whispered something into Aisha’s ear and her expression -- twisted with fear and rage -- suddenly relax.

 

“Amai…” Aisha whispered, her eyes full of sadness, “it’s still gone.” With that she was peaceful.

 

“Well,” came the warbling voice of the man handcuffed to the chair, “that was eventful.”

“I gave you a chance to explain yourself to me before I let her in here, Officer, but now I feel like I’ve been lied to,” Josie tilted her head as she looked at him, “you said you didn’t harm her.”

“I can explain. It was a precaution, that wo~” Josie sighed, lifting her pistol and firing two shots.

 

“She won’t remember anything, yes?” Josie asked Ashanti as she nodded to Gabe.

“I’m certain Commander.” Ashanti confirmed. 

“Please clean that mess up and dispose of it properly.” Josie ordered. She sighed as Gabe gently picked up Aisha. She gestured towards the couch. Taking a blue blanket, she gently laid it over Aisha’s body and watched Aisha relax as she fell into a deep sleep.

 

**_“Praise be to the Ancestors, for we have been blessed today.”_ **

 

“My King?” Okoye questioned as T’Challa looked at W’Kabi. He was bound, kneeling, eyes on the dirt floor. He was silent as the Council of five all stared at him.

 

“If it was not for the will of Bast, we would not have an opportunity such as this to bring those who sided with N’Jadaka to justice, but I think that also means that our great Panther God wants us to consider carefully what moving forward should look like. Wakanda is changing, and this means we as a people should change and think how and why we act towards those who are born of our land and yet choose to cause harm to their brothers and sisters.”

 

T’Challa rose from the throne, seeing the eyes of his mother linger on him, worried. “What say you, W’Kabi. Tell me, do you know the sins you’ve committed against Wakanda?” W’Kabi looked at T’Challa confused and then to the others. T’Challa approached, reaching out a hand.

 

“I sided with a man who I believe had the nerve to do what you could not and will not. Even now, we are being subservient to the world when we should rise.” W’Kabi bit out, eyes narrowed. “What do you say to that, my King?” T’Challa’s hand withdrew.

 

“Subservient?” T’Challa questioned, “or have we only seen the world through the lens of conquerors and conquered for so long that we no longer see people’s suffering? Just when and where do you think that cycle stops if we are only going to attack? And if we remained closed off, how long do you think that would have lasted?”

 

“If that is how you feel, then it is clear what must be done to me then.” W’Kabi bowed his head.

“Giving into wrath is simple. In a moment I could say a word and that would be that.”

“You would forgive me, my King,” W’Kabi looked at him, shocked, “just like that?”

“No. Never.” The answer was short, cold, to the point, “death is the easiest route. To repay your crimes with just death -- how many children suffered from your decisions? How long will they have to live with the consequences? You more than anyone should know what that is like.”

 

“When Klaue took my parents from me~”

“Exactly.” T’Challa took a seat on the throne, “if we kill W’Kabi, what message will we send?”

The River Tribe Elder spoke first. “That betrayal to the crown will not be treated lightly.”

 

“No.” T’Challa shook his head. “We will teach that wrath will always be met with wrath, and in turn, some day that wrath may be met with more wrath in response. We teach them that they can die and have the slate swept clean instead of being accountable.” T’Challa inhaled and looked to his mother, then to the elders. “W’Kabi, to die out of remorse only gives you the easiest route. There are so many who will have to live on the rest of their days in the shadow of what you did. Why should they have to suffer for your actions far more than you do?” He let his eyes linger when he looked to Okoye and saw her clench her jaw.

 

“To start, you will hear the stories of those you hurt.” T’Challa began, “you will put faces to the pain you caused. Then we will make sure you work for repentence.”

“May I ask something, my King?” W’Kabi dared. T’Challa paused then nodded. “If I am to follow what you decree here, am I to be forgiven in the future then?”

 

“Forgiveness is not easy to give.” Okoye spoke up. There was a startle in the court. T’Challa merely looked to Okoye and nodded, a silent permission. “Nor is it always capable to earn. Much like trust once it is lost, W’Kabi. To even ask that is...” Okoye pursed her lips, then sighed, her hand that gripped her spear tightened that T’Challa wondered if the blood could still get to her fingers. He nodded in his agreement, silent, his eyes piercing his old friend.

 

“Will I ever be able to earn it?” W’Kabi avoided everyone’s gaze now.

“I think that remains to be seen.” Ramonda offered after giving T’Challa a glance. He nodded to her as well to allow her to continue. “Some offences are too great to be forgiven. Time will tell if yours are amongst them. Will this stop you then, knowing there may be no reward at the end?”

 

“If I can be honest,” a slight smile flashed on W’Kabi’s lips, uneasy and worried, “I’m tired of carrying blind rage anyways. If this means I can let go of it, perhaps that is reward enough.”

“That is good enough then.” T’Challa nodded his head in approval. “Until further notice, all titles and authorities you have over the Border Tribe will be passed to a suitable candidate, and you will be ineligible to earn back those privileges. In the meantime, you will be required to act on behalf of Wakanda for special assignments.”

 

“Special assignments?” W’Kabi echoed. “Such as?”

“We are currently making plans to head out to America.” T’Challa noticed W’Kabi’s nervous glance when he turned slightly to Okoye. She didn’t respond. “We have War Dogs who have failed to follow orders. They are now considered Strays. We have our concerns that they are planning something to harm either the country they are in or Wakanda itself.”

 

“What sort of mission will this be?”

“Extraction and arrest.” T’Challa placed both hands on the arms of the throne, “I think it’s more beneficial -- to Wakanda, their families and them -- to bring them back alive, however, if they resist and we are left with no other option, we may very well execute them.” He could have sworn he saw Okoye fidget, but her expression was neutral. W’Kabi on the other hand looked both stunned and worried. Then he bowed his head.

 

**_“As is your will.”_ **

 

“Who were you speaking to, Ms. Josie?” Tamsyn’s soft voice filled in the air and Josie hummed as she looked to the young girl who poked her head into the bedroom.

 

“You know your  _ sister  _ and I aren’t Christian?” Tamsyn nodded. “I was talking to our Goddess.”

“Your goddess?”

“Yes. She is a great and powerful Goddess of war and healing. A Lioness who is the daughter of the Sun.” Josie hummed happily “I was just saying a prayer for your  _ sister _ to feel better and be finally healthy again.” Josie leaned over Aisha’s prone form, pulling the blanket to her chin.

 

“Do you think this is because…” Tamsyn dropped her voice to barely above whisper, “ _ Malaika _ is overworking herself?” Tamsyn was, if anything, observant for a child. “She hardly eats, except when I make something for her. She’s been smoking more. She works two jobs. She goes to school. She looks after me. She volunteers with you and Nana at church. I can’t think of the last time I saw her sleep since the last time she collapsed and you brought her home like this.”

 

“Huh.” Josie intoned. “That may be why she’s getting so sick all the time.”

“I told Nana and Baba about what’s happening. That she’s not well. That’s how they started giving us money, but…” Tamsyn laid on the ground near by, propping her head up on folded arms, “she’s still working so much. She also stopped talking to me about her parents when I ask. Do you think they aren’t giving her money anymore? Is that why she’s so stressed?

 

“It might be.” Josie sighed, brushing one of the dreadlocks out of Aisha’s face, “I’ll see if I can get her to tell me. Then I’ll take care of it. Can you trust me to do that, Little Bee?”

 

“Yes Ms. Josie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a fun note, I noticed that AO3 has no way of being in contact with folks and that I miss that part of fandom.  
> I also found how to get back into my old Tumblr.  
> Yeaaaah!  
> If you don't mind old fandom stuff that I won't delete (use to be an LOK RP blog), you can find me:  
> http://yuletidecrow.tumblr.com/


	4. Scar face, Raw Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nakia and Okoye’s catching up is interrupted by Shuri.  
> Shuri has an idea and wants Ross in for the ride but her plan has an unexpected hole in it.  
> M’Baku closes in on one of the Strays.  
> A good night story for Tamsyn might be a good bye from Aisha.  
> Josie and Gabe have an agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m experimenting with times to post a little bit. It seemed that the last post was very quiet which was a bit sad. Oh well. Here’s hoping you all enjoy this one.

“ _Power Girl, I really wanna know your ways._ ”  
\----

Nakia had learned to appreciate many things across the world. She also learned to be picky, and if there was one thing she had begun to become picky about it was coffee. She didn’t come close to pulling a face when she sipped at her mediocre cup. Not that she thought her company would misinterpret the gesture, but one could never be too cautious when dealing with others. Especially someone whom you hadn’t seen in some time.

“Tell me,” Nakia glanced out the window. Wasn’t W’Kabi going to be inconspicuous? Trying to pretend he wasn’t watching them was a poor job of that. “When are you going to show him a piece of your mind for all the trouble he gave us?”  
“When you finally marry the King.” Came the deadpan response. Nakia rolled her eyes, but she saw the rounded shoulders of Okoye. Nakia reached out to rest her hand over hers. “I would love to, honestly, but then he gives me that look of his and I’m not sure whether to be even more angry or to just find him pathetic.”

“Love is strange. Why do you think me and T’Challa were so on and off with each other?”  
“As angry as I still am,” Okoye voiced, “W’Kabi is still the father of our child.”  
“Now,” Nakia blinked a few times, “I haven’t heard you say that in a couple years.”

“Queen Mother Ramonda brought it up. Said she is certain the same cohort who left Wakanda at her husband’s order included a girl Shuri is involved with.” Okoye admitted, “I haven’t had the heart to tell her that the girl Shuri worries for and my late daughter are one and the same.” She licked her lips, almost a nervous gesture Nakia noted.

“Is that why you told Shuri to give up, forget and move on?”  
“It’s best for her. To find out now would...” Okoye defended. “Has it really been two years since we lost her?” Nakia didn’t bother to point out that despite the length of time, Okoye still couldn’t say her daughter’s name out loud to anyone. It was like she was pretending her daughter didn’t really exist, but some pains didn’t need to be highlighted or pointed out.

“There about.” Nakia sighed. “M’Koni left the Dora Milaje shortly after, didn’t she?”  
“Almost immediately. She was never good with those sort of things and W’Kabi and her kept blaming each other. I was just promoted to General the year before so I had no idea this was even happening until My daughter told me just before leaving for America.”

“You got to be General over M’Koni, I remember.” Nakia sighed. “She didn’t like that.”  
“It did strain our relationship.” Okoye looked up from her cup and sighed. “Three whole weeks and we’re still no closer to catching our Stray War Dogs.”

“We’ve narrowed down the neighbourhoods at least, but it is still a lot of ground for what is arguably a rather small team to cover.” Nakia tapped the table, “and M’Baku is currently following up on a strange message we got at that church over in Queens.”

“He doesn’t do subtle.” Okoye frowned in disapproval. “He shouldn’t be on this mission.”  
“Perhaps, but he does have a way of unnerving people.” Nakia countered. “Someone in that anxiety might let something slip.” Suddenly she felt a buzz. She turned over her hand and reached for a pulsating bead. The Kimoyo bead glowed and then Vibranium sand, black as onyx began to swirl before forming a familiar shape of Shuri’s form.

“Princess!”  
“Shuri!”  
“Okoye! Nakia! Perfect! How’s America?”  
“It’s America.” Okoye murmured, waving her hand.  
“It’s been treating us well, but we are empty handed at the moment.” Nakia added.

“Well, I was just thinking that I didn’t do the most obvious thing to help. Listen, Ross should be coming by any second~” Shuri looked down to her own beads holding up a finger. They heard a chime in the coffee shop and felt eyes scanning the room. They saw the pale haired man a moment later as he sat in beside Okoye. She looked at him strangely and he flinched.

“Shuri told me to~”  
“Hush, hush, Ross, I was just explaining that to them.” Shuri interrupted.  
“Is that her in the sand? Just like the console for your sh~”  
“Didn’t I say hush?”  
He shook his head, smiling slightly. “Kids.” He lifted a small case and pulled out an tablet sized device and Okoye and Nakia looked it over. It was a sand table.

“So, I’m doing a Database search,” Shuri explained, “Your targets won’t have location Kimoyo beads since they have been undercover. We’ve been more advanced than other nations for years, but Baba always believed you could never be too prudent.” She was tinkering with something in the background, “but health data is not location specific, and we let them keep that Kimoyo bead in case they have ill health so we can issue an order for them to return.”

“Wait,” Ross looked at the three, skeptical, “what does health data have to do with this?”  
“I’m getting to that, and where you fit in on this too.” Shuri shushed Ross, “every Wakandian has at least one Kimoyo bead for their health. It’s responsible for monitoring the status, checking their vitals keeping reports for our physicians should they have any concerns. So,” Shuri was clicking away at something, “certain biometrics over there in the States have to be recorded too. If any of our four runaway strays had anything to do with a hospital…”

“Ah.” Ross sighed. “You want me to play Mister CIA and get files so we have addresses?”  
“It’s clearly no fun when you say it like that.” Shuri whined.  
“You know that’s an abuse of power, right?” Ross drolled.  
“Didn’t you just say you’d rather Wakanda and America didn’t fight?”  
“True.” Ross rubbed his neck and sighed.

“The only problem with that plan, Shuri,” Nakia unfolded her hands from around her coffee mug, “is that as spies, they are going to avoid leaving a trail.”  
“Yes, I know, I planned for that, see,” Shuri typed something and suddenly the sand table spurred to life showing several highlighted locations, “we have a network of Wakandan doctors posing as American health professionals. If we compare their records, then look at American records~”  
“But they went Astray.” Nakia reiterated. “They wouldn’t go to our people either.”  
“Meaning if any of them have a chronic condition they’d be force at some point to go to the American hospital. The medicine is inferior, but it’s still medicine that helps.”  
Nakia paused. “I suppose.”

“I know who several of them are personally,” Shuri explained, “and one of them in particular does have the type of history where if something came up, she would have to have someone take a look sooner or later.” Ross watched as Nakia and Okoye looked at each other. Nakia seemed pensive and Okoye deeply uncomfortable.

“Can’t your rogues just use one of those bead things like your brother did when I got shot and be perfectly fine if it’s before they have any problems?” Ross proposed, and Shuri shook her head.  
“No. A Kimoyo bead can only do so much.”  
“Why would somebody like that be approved for a mission in the first place?” Ross followed Shuri’s gaze to Nakia and she froze, looking to Okoye for a moment.  
“I’ve wondered that myself since she left, to be honest.”

“It depends on what their talents are.” Nakia admitted, “In Wakanda, we do have amazing technology, but we also have those powerfully talented in the Spiritual Arts. Plus the former King use to be a bit of traditionalist until his last two years. It was common to send out operatives whose talents laid in our Magic in the past.”

“Magic?” Ross questioned, then looked to Shuri, “I thought you said there was no such thing as Magic in Wakanda, only technology?”  
“No, silly,” Shuri sighed, “I said what healed you was science, not magic. There is magic in our land. Certain aspects have become exceedingly rare, and not often does a Shaman gets to leave Wakanda now.” She frowned. “They’re too valuable to risk...”  
“So essentially that operative of yours is like a…” Ross thought on it, “squishy mage.”  
That earned a laugh from Shuri. “I guess, but this is the first time I’ve heard of that being the reason she got to go—if it’s even true.”

“I am only speculating.” Nakia gave a tight smile, throwing a look at Okoye, almost nervous, Ross noted. Shuri, being that she was communicating from far away seemed to have missed this. “There are rumours that support it. As they say, rumours, if you look closely can often have a tiny bit of truth to them.”  
“Well a rumour I’ve heard is that the Strays want to take action while we are still stabilizing. Catch us while we aren’t sure footed,” Shuri let that thought fester, “we need to get the Strays in our custody before they get...whatever they’re after.”

“That’s the great mystery, isn’t it?” Nakia noted. Okoye sighed, moving languidly, but she did send a short but worried glance in Nakia’s direction. There was silence and then the typing on Shuri’s side suddenly halted. After a long moment, Shuri spoke, soft, whispery in quality.

“Hey, Okoye…”  
“Yes Shuri?”  
“Kobya’s Kimoyo beads last read a cardiac arrest.” Shuri exhaled shakily. “Two years ago.”

“Kobya?” Ross echoed, confused.  
“My...” Okoye looked frayed. She pressed her lips together as she looked to him, “daughter.”  
“Oh.” Ross settled into the information and then it hit. “Oh no. Oh geeze. I’m so sorry.”  
“It’s sad but…” Okoye shook her head, “she died for Wakanda. I’m proud of her, Ross.”

“You knew?” There was a sharpness to Shuri’s voice now. “All this time -- every message I sent her since Baba died and she said nothing back -- you knew it was going nowhere?”

“Shuri, I can explain,” Okoye’s voice was soft, pleading, “she was young. You are even you~”  
“By one year! She’s only older than me by just one year!”  
“Seventeen months.” Okoye corrected softly. “It didn’t seem right to tell you and scare you.”  
“And yet it was right for her to be on that mission in the first place?”  
“Your father chose her, but he did not choose lightly. Kobya saw it as an honour.”

“So Baba knew?” Shuri’s voice was thick with tears, “who else did? Did Mother? Did my Brother? What about you Nakia?” Okoye looked away. Nakia shifted in her seat. “So you all knew what happened to her and none of you -- not a single one thought I needed to know?”

“Shuri,” Ross looked at the two clearly uncomfortable women with him, “It may not seem like it in this moment, but I’m sure they were trying to do was protect you from that pain since~”  
“I’m not a child!” Shuri hissed. “Shut up Ross.” With a click, Shuri disappeared. Nakia sighed and Okoye stared silently into nothing, her eyes glistening.

“That,” Ross looked at the two women, “could have gone remarkably better.” Okoye looked at him with a mixture of disgust, dismay and despair, her lips curling into a snarl. “I should probably just stop talking right now, shouldn’t I? Look, I’m really sorry, if there’s anything I~”

“ **Do you enjoy the sound of your own voice?** ”

M’Baku laughed far too loudly. His voice echoed in the cavernous halls of the church. Several older women who were gathered around an even older woman with a set of beads in her hand turned to look at him, and shoot him a dirty look. He merely shrugged, turning to the woman who was at his side. He dwarfed her, by nearly a foot, but she seemed neither peturbed nor interested by it. She snorted when his laughter finally died off and he gazed at her in challenge. Ashanti sucked in a breath and looked away from him, biting her lip.

“Doyouenjoyinsulting strangers?”

“Ashanti.” The woman gave her name, leaning on the half wall separating the sanctuary from the entry. “There, now we know each other.” She glared at him, the intensity of her side eye visible from beneath her bangs. “Can I help you, or are you here just to be annoying?”

M’Baku grinned gaily. “See, I think this is why you Americans are so strange. Where I am from, not wearing shoes in the house of your God is considered respectful, as is my prayer.”  
“Yes, well, sir,” Ashanti rolled her eyes, a hand on her hips, “this isn’t your little back water village in the mountains of Africa. We don’t understand whatever it is you were speaking, nor do we pray to your god. We’re in America, where we speak English. You should probably do that around here, and if you’re planning on sticking around, you should learn Christianity.”

“Oh?” M’Baku tilted his head. “For a second it seemed like you did understand what I said.”  
“American born and raised sir. It must be your imagination.” Ashanti huffed, leaning so her arms were braced on the half wall. M’Baku’s eyes wandered for a second. Her clothes were rather form fitting. “Don’t be a pig.” She muttered, a hand disappearing into her purse.

“You look,” she had long straightened hair, blood red lipstick, cateye for her eyeliner. Her eyes were startlingly green. Most likely contacts, “uncomfortable. Are those flexible?”

“What I wear is none of your goddamn business.” Ashanti huffed. “Ape.”  
“Can you even fight in that?” He gestured at her tight jeans and tunic.  
“What?” Ashanti clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Ugh. Go away.”  
“For a warrior, those clothes are far too constricting.” M’Baku pointed out.  
“I’m no warrior.” Ashanti tossed her hair behind a shoulder. “I’m a doctor by trade Mr...”

“M’Baku.” He reached for her wrist before it could withdraw from brushing her hair behind an ear. She tried to tug it away, eyes wide, “That’s a rather interesting bracelet you’ve got.” He noted to a set of dark beads around her wrist. “I have one just like it.” He lifted his arm to show his own Kimoyo beads and grinned. “Who are you?” He demanded in Xhosa.

Pain blinded him. He let go and heard her bolt for the doors.

“Damn it.” So much for his stroke of luck. He had a feeling the woman looked familiar, but now he was rubbing at his eyes, trying to see after whatever burning thing she had just sprayed into them. He heard a crackle in his ear and frowned as his hazy vision allowed him to stumble into the crowded streets of New York. Of course T’Challa would call now.

“M’Baku!” It was T’Challa yelling in his ear. He sounded worried. “What happened?”  
“I M’Baku of the Jabari have found one of our Strays. Hanuman has blessed me today.”  
“Where?”

“At the building Nakia suggested was a community space.” The Stray dogs were undercover, after all. “She’s brilliant, T’Challa. If they planned on staying they had no reason to break cover.” He was large, had been all his life but for once it felt a blessing as others moved around him, rather than colliding into his bigger, more intimidating form.

“Stand down, M’Baku. We can’t have them tipping off their allies.” He caught sight of her ducking into an Alley. Vision still blurry and burning, he pushed through throngs of people, attempting to catch up. Their first lead was so close. Like hell was he going to give up.

“Praise be to Hanuman.” He whispered, closing in. Ashanti spotted him then, raised her hand, gun ready. Before M’Baku could dive for cover, three shots had gone off. He groaned as he felt the hot lead pierce his flesh. He heard T’Challa over the comm device but could hardly make sense of the words, his head swimming with pain.

“I...think I can appreciate the technology that child sister of yours makes.” He grunted. “Ow.”

“ **Where are you?** ”

“Right here, Tamsyn, no worries.” Aisha smiled at the girl tapping her nose before tucking her in. The lamp light and the warmth of this room was such a strange feeling. She had gotten use to how damp and cool their apartment was. “I do have to go soon.”

“Can you tell me a story first?”  
“Ask your Grandmother.” Aisha glanced at her phone, “Sister Katherine would be happy.”  
“But you tell the better stories. Please?” The girl looked at her earnestly and Aisha looked at her phone again, calculating whether she could take the next train, and checking her pocket.

“Fine.” Aisha pulled out a silver case and tucked a cigarette behind an ear. “What story?”  
“The Five Tribes -- can you tell me about the tribe that prays to the Lion Goddess?”  
“The Lion Goddess huh?” Aisha’s eyebrows rose high. “Who told you about The Goddess Sekhmet?”  
“Miss Josie did.” Tamsyn quipped back. “She seems mean, but she has a good heart, and she cares about you a lot, I can tell.” Tamsyn said in a flurry. Aisha tilted her head in awe.  
“That Josephine is such a complicated woman.” Aisha chuckled. “And to win you over too? Well then, I guess I owe you a story on who Sekhmet is…” Aisha cleared her throat.

**“Where should I…”**

Ashanti reached for the fire exit, and nearly screamed when a hand grabbed her wrist. She was tugged forward, a hand pressed tight to her mouth. Gabe’s dark eyes looked her over.

“I’m here. It’s me. Relax.” He whispered, his eyes darting around. “Were you followed?” She shook her head. He let go, bringing her up the metal stairs and through the back door to the inside. The apartment was dark and warm as always. The windows blocked out by heavy curtains. There was someone tied to it and Ashanti’s eyes widened when she saw who.

“Commander?” Ashanti gaped. “By the love of -- Buziba, what the hell are you doing?”  
“I can explain.” Gabe wrung his hands. They were bruised and swollen, but Josie’s body looked far worse. She seemed to be out cold for the time being. “She snitched.”

“To who?”  
“The King.” Gabe looked to Ashanti, “That’s why you were runnin’, wasn’t it?”  
“I met M’Baku of the Jabari. It seems he doesn’t remember me.”

“Look, if we’re goin’ t’get out of this alive, we need t’secure a way. I’m sure the Commander went and told ‘em ‘bout the kid.” Gabe shuffled around and soon was pressing a pistol into Ashanti’s hands. “You need to get her and bring her here. I need to see what other information I can get out of the Commander ‘bout all this.”

“But why me?”  
“Ashanti -- Awiti, please, you’re the only one I can trust right now.” Gabe flinched when he heard Josie groan in pain, stirring from her unconscious state, “besides, she’ll let her guard down with you. I’m the one she hates, so she’ll never listen to me. Tell her the Commander is in trouble. She’ll come without too much trouble. The gun is in case she fights.”

“What happens once I get the kid?”  
“We use her and the Commander as hostages. They live and so do we. We cool with that?”  
“Do we have much of a choice?”  
“‘fraid not.”

“Then don’t do anything dumb to the Commander before I get back.” Ashanti declared. Gabe nodded, and saw her to the fire escape. He watched her reach the bottom of the rustic metal stairs and breathed a sigh of relief, turning to look to a very conscious Josie.

“You’re a very convincing actor.” Josie smiled, but winced when pain spiked.  
“Thanks. I spent the last year being trained by a compulsive liar.”  
“You’re welcome.” Josie winced again, “though I’m sure the beating helped to sell the story.”  
“True.” Gabe laughed. “Tell me something, M’Koni,” his eyes were gentle, “you intended this the day you found out the truth about little Aisha, didn’t you?”

“No.” Josie admitted softly, “But a little girl with the eyes of the dead was conviction enough.”  
“Is that why she sees D’Jalia?”Josie nodded. Gabe frowned. “What about Awiti and I?”  
“Sacrifices for the Goddess herself.”  
“You are a woman of Malice.” He sighed. “Well if I gotta be sacrificed, that’s what it gotta be.”

“Thank you, Buziba.” He nodded as he reached for a gun. Something heavy hit the roof.  
“Show time.” Josie heard Gabe murmur as he trained the weapon to the sound of footsteps.

It was a flurry of motion. He shot at the roof. Something punched through it, and two figures in red and gold ornate armour dropped down through the roof. Playing along, Josie struggled against her restraints, yelling and screaming and trying to free herself.

One of the Dora Milaje froze. Josie looked up to the bald woman and nothing further needed to be said. Okoye spun her spear when Gabe began to take shots, careful to redirect the fire carefully. The bullets ricocheted across the apartment and M’Koni grunted when she felt one hit her leg. She hissed in pain, and in a moment she saw a blur of red, and those piercing eyes landing on her for the first time in years.

“Ayo!” Okoye called out. Ayo closed in on Gabe. He kept shooting, but his bullets were deflected. The gun clicked. Once. Twice. He froze. Empty. Gabe whipped the gun at Ayo’s face. With a mighty yell, she knocked it aside just as Gabe raised his hands near his cheeks into a fighter’s stance.

Ayo jabbed. Gabe bobbed. He caught her with a hook. She hit him with the side of the spear. He grabbed onto it tight, tugging her forward. Ayo pushed him with a strong kick to the chest. Then, she was able to grab the spear and before Gabe could put his guard up, it cut through him. Shocked. He looked down at his abdomen and cough and sputtered blood before falling to the ground. Ayo stood over him, spear by his neck before looking over to Okoye.

“General?”  
“I’m handling things here.” Okoye had placed a Kimoyo bead in the wound. Josie realized she had forgotten that feeling. It was strange, both cold and warm at the same time. It pinched the skin, making it itchy. Looking at the woman who was currently freeing her from the bonds, Josie saw Okoye swallow slowly. Her hands shook with nervousness.

“Okoye, is that you?” Josie spoke softly. Okoye frowned before inhaling through her nose.  
“Who are you?” Okoye demanded in Xhosa. Josie raised shaking hands to her lower lip, tugging it to show a glowing tattoo. Okoye watched, stalwart, stoic, and distant.

“I am M’Koni,” Josie responded in Xhosa in kind, “daughter of M’Ruka of the River tribe.”

“M’Koni,” Okoye allowed a smile to grace her lips as she swept her up into a gentle hug. “You’re safe now.” Okoye’s hands rested on her shoulders, looking M’Koni over, from head to her feet and then back again. “It’s over.” Okoye let go of her shoulders, stepping back.

“Thank you, love.” It was a slip. Okoye withdrew a bit more, her hands at her side, another two steps were taken backwards. “You look wonderful. The years have been kind.”  
“You look…” Okoye was trying to be distant, M’Koni could tell, “different.”

“Is it the relaxed hair?” M’Koni ran a very gentle hand through the strands. It was thin, weak, brittle. Part of it was her age. Now in her fifties, her hair did not tolerate things like the harsh chemicals used to colour and straighten it. Personally, she hated it herself, but it helped her blend in. Dyed a mahogany, she looked like any other middle aged church going Black woman around here. She gently tugged at the strands. “I can tell you hate it.”

“You use to wear your tattoos with so much pride.” Okoye murmured softly.  
“I’m no longer a Dora. I won’t bare those tattoos. Besides, it’s warm. America gets cold.”  
“Right.” Okoye looked away. “We should tell the King you were a hostage and head back.”

“General?” Ayo questioned. “What should we do with this man?”  
“Take him in custody. Tell the ship we need the sick bay to be ready for one injured.”  
“As you command, General.” Ayo brought her arms into an x and then broke it.

“Wait!” M’Koni called out, reaching out to touch her arm. “Not yet, Okoye. I can’t go.”  
“Why?” Okoye pulled her arm away, gripping her spear tightly. “It is an order from the king.”  
“There is an accomplice. A woman. She is going after another War Dog with us. A teen girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst. You can find me at yultidecrow.tumblr.com if you don’t mind old LOK things being there.
> 
> Also, I’m on a trip for the next little while so posting might be slightly erratic. But hopefully when stuck on the plane and such I can get some more chapters ahead and be 2x a week when I come back. That’d be awesome.
> 
> Yes. I totally know how this is gonna end. No. I won’t be giving any hints, but I do encourage you to take a shot at where you think this will ultimatly end up in the comments and see if you get close ;)


	5. Take the Heart You Thought You Had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuri finds the spirits work in mysterious ways when she finds herself face to face with Kobya.  
> Ashanti is desperate, Aisha terrified. Okoye and Nakia try to talk Ashanti down.  
> Josie/M’Koni decides damage control is in order, after all one life saved is better than two dead.  
> T’Challa realizes there may be more skeletons in T’Chaka’s closet than just abandoning N’Jadaka.  
> Death is sometimes a little more complicated than we think. So is life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back and thanks for your patience! Also, still up for your guesses as to what happens next. Enjoy! Please feel free to leave a comment, I’m excited as to where your imaginations are going on this :D Also I do enjoy a good discussion as well.

“And I know that we have asked for change. Don't be scared to put the fears to shame.”

\----

 

The faint glow of the stars in the Royal Garden bathed Shuri in a strange light. Wearing all black, her braids were kept out of her face in a larger braid. She squinted at the charred grounds, a data pad in hand. She rubbed at her eyes for the umpteenth time, hissing at the pain they ached with. It had been far too long since she last slept, but there was work to be done.

 

The hours seemed to have melted into each other as she took another soil sample. Unceremoniously, she flopped against one of the stone pillars, sighing as she set the soil for analysis, her full lips pressed together as she closed her eyes.

 

Everything was awash in magenta, purple and rose. Shuri squinted as she looked around. It was the capital, and she was just outside the palace. She walked through the plains towards one of the smaller gardens where a tree was. Beneath it was a young girl, her hair coiled tightly into Bantu knots. She sat with her leg propped up, staring at something off in the distance. When Shuri took a seat beside her, she realized that she was about the same age as this girl now. Seven to the girl’s eight.

 

Despite being beside her for quite some time, Shuri wasn’t noticed by the girl, but rather by two Black Birds that sat in the tree near them that cooed softly to alert of a visitor. The girl jumped. Only her left eye widened. The other stayed still as marble. There was a raised scar running along her face, still raw and fresh.

 

“Shuri…” the girl spoke softly, “why are you here?”

“I don’t know, where is here anyways?” Shuri reached for her, she pulled away.

“Many people call it many things, Shuri. You shouldn’t be here.”

“D’Jalia.” Shuri concluded, looking about. “Kobya, they never told me you were gone. I wanted -- no -- I needed to see you. With Baba gone, then nearly losing brother…”

 

“You needed someone.” The girl finished, tilting her head to the sky. “Your family?”

“Mother’s great. Everyone is, but you? You’re different. It was you I needed.” Shuri felt like her neck was on fire. “That’s what I’ve been thinking all this time.”

 

“Different, huh?” The girl pursed her lips. “Is it because I could always see and hear spirits?” Shuri felt stung by the suggestion. “Did you want me just so you could speak to the King again?” Something dark moved over Kobya’s face.

 

“No. Never.” Shuri shook her head violently. “I wouldn’t use you like that.” She paused, “your talents are rare and sacred. Not strange or weird.”

“Not just another tool for spies and war?” Kobya asked. Shuri looked at her, shocked.

“What, no?!” She exclaimed. “Anyone who thinks that way of a Shaman~”

“Why me specifically?” Kobya pressed. Interrupted, Shuri felt caught off balance.

 

“My Baba is dead. He was murdered, Kobya.” Shuri inhaled sharply, hugging herself tight. “You’re the only one that I grew up with understands that kind of loss.”

“Chandra.” The girl whispered the name. “The outsiders.” She continued. “I see.”

“Now I’m here, with you.” Shuri paused for a beat. “Somehow. It’s like I willed it.”

“They say the old Kings were capable of that.” The girl patted the grass beside her.

 

“Was Baba that way too?” She asked as she moved closer. She received no answer — like the question was ignored. Kobya swallowed harshly and stared blankly ahead.

 

“I’m so sorry.” As Shuri sat down, Kobya suddenly was how the princess last remembered. Fourteen. Hair braided with green beads weaved in. “I promised to come back to you. No. For you.” The scar hardly noticeable. It was just a series of dark and slightly raised skin about her eye, but her long, braided dark hair hid much of it. “Then I messed up.” Now her eye moved in sync with the other. “I only wanted to do my best. When Chandra died and I got hurt, I thought I would never be a warrior, never make my parents proud.” Kobya was a child again. She grasped for Shuri’s outreached hand and pressed it against her cheek. “You shouldn’t be here. Not like this, not without guidance. This land is dangerous. Leave before you cross over.”

 

“I would leave,” Shuri struggled to make sense of how everything shifted, but it was difficult at best and cryptic at worst, “but I have no idea how I got here to begin with.”

“Remember when you made this?” Kobya was a teen again. She gestured to her eye

“Your smile,” Shuri felt her cheeks warm, “If what I could create could improve the world for others and help my brother, I figured that was a reason for me to always keep inventing.”

 

“Really?” Kobya let her fingers lace with Shuri’s. There was warmth when their hands met, but something felt like it was missing. “You were always a beautiful soul.” Kobya shook her head. “Go. You’re needed out there. In that world you can make changes I could only dream of.”

 

“Wait,” Shuri squeezed her hand, “where did they bury you? Let me know so I can visit.” Kobya shook her head, the braids swinging from side to side and the beads weaved into it clacked together. “Why not? Don’t I deserve closure too?”

“Some are quick to yield.” Kobya folded her hands in her lap, “I was. Don’t become like us, Shuri.” She looked up when one of the Black birds landed on her shoulder. “We are the lost and damned.”

 

“What are you saying?”

“Do you believe death is so simple? Especially for those of us who have spent all of their lives half dead, with a foot in D’Jalia and a foot in the realm of the living?”

“I mean, I have so many questions I need to know and understand.” Shuri noted.

“Death is not meant to be understood, not when it comes to the matter of the spirit and it’s powers,” Kobya warned, “but if you could, what would you ask?”

“Who killed you? Why?” Kobya closed her eyes, sighing. Shuri continued. “Were you scared? Is a part of you still here, watching, like the old Kings?”

 

“I do not know.”

“That’s strange, you’re right here, aren’t you?” Shuri questioned, looking at her puzzled, “They say the Kings in D’Jalia could tell you their entire lives so you have to know something about how you passed!” Shuri insisted, “If I was able to, well, call you to see me here, that has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

“I couldn’t say for sure.”

“Just answer me something,” Shuri pressed, “if at least a part of you didn’t linger, I wouldn’t have been able to talk to you like this, right?”

“That’s right.

 

**“Then maybe it isn’t over yet.”**

 

Okoye muttered the words softly, regretting when the Stray’s choke hold tightened on the teen girl she held close. The hostage situation was turning into a crisis. The woman — barely older than her hostage — looked terrified. Fear meant she was more likely to act suddenly. Okoye tried not to lash out as she saw the hostage — a teen whisper prayers as Ashanti screamed at them right beside her ear, clicking the safety the moment they got closer.

 

M’Koni was with them. She insisted it was important there was a more familiar face for the hostage to help the matter from going more south. Okoye didn’t agree at first, but when she realized she had Nakia as her only back up as Ayo had to transport the man they captured, she decided, until T’Challa could reach their location with W’Kabi, an injured -- but able to manage her wounds -- former Dora Milaje was a hell of a lot better having their back than having no one.

 

“Put the gun down, child.” Okoye requested to the young woman, her eyes darting to the window. Ashanti shook her head wildly. “If you do, we can talk. We can explain everything and you might be able to go home with minimal punishment.”

 

“I said,” Ashanti hissed, “it isn’t over!”

“Ashanti, please, let go…” Aisha begged. She shifted in pain, placing most of her weight on one leg. The one that hadn’t been shot to keep her from running off.

“Shut up! I’m the only one between us that needs to talk right now!”

 

“Where do you think you can go from here?” Nakia questioned, frowning at the woman who put her finger on the trigger, depressing it slightly, “you kill her and we kill you. You don’t kill her and we have a reason to choose a different course of action.”

 

“No.” Ashanti hissed. “I think you’re going to listen, or she bleeds out.”

“So time is limited.” Okoye glanced down to the floor below them. It was dirty, and hard to see. The teen’s heavyweight black hoodie and jeans didn’t help either.

 

“Here’s my deal. I don’t kill this kid, and you let me walk. Nothing more, nothing less, got it?”

“You’ve been ordered back to Wakanda.” Okoye noted stubbornly. “That is non negotiable.”

“So you’d let a child die for the sake of an order?”

“For Wakanda, yes.” Okoye edged closer, spear pointed, “you are a danger if we leave you.”

 

“Listen to the General. The only way you’re going to leave with your life tonight is if you do as we say. Anything else is death.” Nakia pleaded softly, looking to Aisha. M’Koni exhaled as she heard the plead, her eyes searching the ratty apartment. She moved slowly. Ashanti noticed.

 

“Don’t you dare, Commander!” Ashanti bellowed. M’Koni sighed and straightened out her shirt. She raised both hands high in the air. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you didn’t sell us out!”

“I’m not about to let that girl die for your ambitions, Awiti.” M’Koni stated simply.

“Shut up! These were your ambitions first! You saw them, the protests and the riots! The police militarized against the civilians they’re supposed to protect! You know people’ve disappeared!”

“I never said I didn’t.” M’Koni breathed softly.

 

“So what?” Ashanti screamed, “isn’t that why I was following you? Because you saw all this and said _‘no’._ Did you lose your nerve because the King of Wakanda kept barking? He is no king! He is no better than the pigs in riot gear!” Ashanti poked Aisha in the head with the barrel, “Right?”

 

“She’s right, _Amai_.” Aisha’s eyes were rheumy. “She’s right, please, make her stop.”

“Amai?” Okoye echoed. She frowned and M’Koni felt her heart catch. “Why does she call you…”

 

“Awiti,” M’Koni’s voice was smooth like velvet, “if you kill my daughter, I will never forgive you. Even after you reach D’Jalia. I will hunt your family. I will hunt your children. I will hunt their children. I will make their lives, and the short remainder of yours, completely miserable.”

 

“This girl is your daughter? But Chandra is—!”

“Okoye, later.” M’Koni promised, her lips pulled into a snarl, “Awiti, we are not going to ask again. Let go of her. This instant.”

 

“Then I guess you spending the effort to come here was in vain now, huh?” Aisha screamed. Nakia called out to Ashanti to wait. Okoye commanded the young woman — barely out of her teens herself — to stop. They all spoke at once in a flurry of panic and worry all while Ashanti yelled at them at the same time in Xhosa to stop and shut up.

 

Ashanti pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

 

Wild and worried, she began pulling it quickly, over and over again, hoping for the kickback, for the sound and the blood that would cover her.

 

“No, no, no!” She shouted. Nakia and Okoye exchanged glances as they closed ranks. “There has to be at least one more bullet in here,” she was choking Aisha with her forearm now, the girl clawing and hitting against the limb but quickly running out of strength. “Don’t you dare get any closer, or she really will be dead! Gabe wouldn’t have given me an empty gun!”

 

“Forgive me Honey Bee.”

 

A shot went off. Aisha hit the floor. Ashanti was behind her. Air had rushed back to Aisha’s lungs and she screamed as she fell backwards. Ashanti crawled from beneath her hostage, wincing as she pressed a hand to her shoulder, raising the gun one more time. M’Koni took two quick shots into her head and she fell still.

 

Okoye whirled around to face her, wide eyed, flustered. M’Koni quietly handed her the gun and raised her hands above her head before kneeling, staring the dead Ashanti in the eyes. Slowly, Okoye took the gun then looked to Nakia who rushed over to Aisha. Standing before M’Koni, Okoye heaved a sigh, her hands gripping her spear tightly as she stood over M’Koni.

 

“You made this a lot more difficult, you know. Things could have ended cleanly.”

“We were going to lose them both if we didn’t act. One is better than two. I’ve minimized loss.”

“Minimize loss?” Okoye echoed furiously, “They are both of Wakanda!”

 

“Then have the King put me on trial, Okoye. You may say that I took a life and I will tell him that I saved one.” M’Koni raised her head when they heard footsteps on the roof. “Frankly,” she continued, voice soft, “those girls should have never been here to begin with. Children are not soldiers. Wakanda ought to be better than all these backwater lands. That mission T’Chaka started was shameful.” The lights flickered, and the Black Panther was now among them, ready for battle, pausing when there was no sign of one to fight.

 

“What happened?” T’Challa demanded as he assessed the current situation.

“One of our Strays took this girl hostage. We were in a standoff until now. This girl is one of ours as well, My King.” Okoye began to fill him in. He nodded, though cocked his head to the side at the kneeling M’Koni. “It is the same story with her. We have her captor on the ship now, Ayo has him in custody in our brig.” T’Challa nodded, kneeling beside Nakia to look at Aisha.

 

“T’Challa, she’s not doing well. She’s been shot three times now, in the abdomen and knee by the hostage taker,” she nodded to Ashanti’s dead body, “the third in the arm.” As she spoke, she heard Aisha groan in pain, her face beaded with sweat. “You’re awake. Good, look, we’re going to help. Try not to panic, everything is going to be fine. You’ll be home before you know it.”

 

“Who shot her?” T’Challa’s face was unseen, and Aisha was looking at him, wide eyed and fearful. Nakia shushed the young woman, running fingers through her locs. Sensing her discomfort, T’Challa pressed on one of the teeth of his necklace and the helmet disappeared.

 

“M’Koni did.” That had him whirling around to the kneeling woman. M’Koni stared at him, unshaken, not even by the fact that it was Okoye who had spoken those words.

 

T’Challa stared her down. “Tell me who you are.”

“My King.” M’Koni moved her hand to her lip to pull it down, “I am M’Koni, daughter of M’Ruka.”

“Hello Cousin.” He tilted his head, looking at the glowing tattoo. “Why are you here?”  
“Well,” M’Koni breathed, “this started off as me trying do something your father couldn’t.”

“Which was?”

“Bring my daughter back to us.”

“And now?”

“You tell me.” M’Koni hissed, “you gonna leave my daughter to die like your Daddy or are we going to hurry and get back to Wakanda before I lose Kobya again?”

 

“What~” Okoye was standing between M’Koni and T’Challa now, “what are you even talking about, Kobya died, M’Koni. They weren’t able to get her body because she was~”

“Go look for yourself.” M’Koni told the younger woman, “scarred like the day she left us over the right eye. With her Baba’s smile, she’s left handed like her Umama.”

 

“You’re lying…” Okoye stared at M’Koni, her mouth twitching, “don’t even joke about somethin~”

“Okoye,” T’Challa interrupted, “please help Nakia stabilize that girl so we can leave.”

“But~”

 

“Now, please.” With Okoye moving to help Nakia, T’Challa looked at the still kneeling M’Koni. “I heard rumours on your reasons for leaving.” He looked stern but sombre.

“Rumours, or a spy told you?” M’Koni lifted her head, exposing her neck, smiling. “Well?”

“I always felt we were never given the full story about it.”

 

“Because you weren’t,” M’Koni gritted, “T’Chaka lied, but as someone who had been part of the Dora Milaje since I was a young girl, I could see right through him. To save face he let me go.”

“There was a lot of attention put on that Activist group.” T’Challa explained gently, “Trying to remove her was risky. It was like the sixties in America all over again.”

 

“It was. Right down the riots and labelling the group as Domestic Terrorists.” M’Koni noted. “It was also advantageous, right? If she was right at the pulse, this movement could help reshape this country and Wakanda would have a hand to see how it changes.” M’Koni laughed, “I mean, she is about the same age as many of the most prominent members, having her stay put, even as the police became more aggressive and disruptive of their lives helped.”

 

“I promise you, as his son, that what you have gone through will be considered.” T’Challa touched his necklace. His helmet reappeared and he placed a hand to his ear. “W’Kabi?”

 

“Yes My King?”

“We have our targets.” He announced. “Be prepared to take on six of us. Okoye. Nakia. Myself. Two of our Stray War Dogs and the body of another who took one of them hostage.”

 

“Another one of them did so? How strange...” T’Challa agreed, silently, but he kept the thought to himself as he felt a wash of strange energy from his toes to his hair and then, he was in the ship. W’Kabi stood at the ready, but T’Challa waved him off.

 

“Take care of the body.”

“Yes my…” W’Kabi was looking at M’Koni now. He was frozen in shock.

 

“Good evening to you to, W’Kabi.” She dusted herself off and smiled.

“M’Koni…” He stepped closer to her, eyes wide and amazed. “You...you’re back.”

“I am.” She managed a smirk just for him. “Missed me?”

 

**“What happened to you?”**

 

“The physician is saying it’s exhaustion, Brother, nothing more.” Shuri smiled at T’Challa’s worried expression. He had returned from America just a couple of days ago only to find out that when he was gone, she had been in the Royal Garden and had collapsed. Their mother was certain to rush to him with the news in a flurry of worry. With Ramonda’s worry and the Stray War Dogs, T’Challa was feeling rather challenged. What certainly didn’t help were the Elders who were all pushing for an answer on how T’Challa was going to handle those War Dogs who rebelled so openly, but he was dragging his feet, “nothing a bit of rest can’t take care of.”

 

“Like the doctor suggested?” He looked at her incredulously, “You, listening to a suggestion? How amazing.”

“I listen to many suggestions.” Shuri huffed, “I just happen to know when _my_ ideas are better.”

“So what makes this entire situation different?”

 

Shuri frowned at him. “The fact that finding out pretty much everyone I know lied to me about something important.” T’Challa tried not to wince. “Maybe I need some time to think on that?”

 

“You mean about Kobya?” Shuri frowned and T’Challa added, “Okoye told me.”

“Of course she would.” She turned a corner down the hall, towards her room. T’Challa sighed.

“Look, Father didn’t know what to tell you.” T’Challa admitted, “and neither did I, to be honest.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

 

“I agree.” That had Shuri pausing, and he looked at her, quietly, composed as he brought his thoughts together to form his next words, “we were wrong not to tell you that she was involved with a prominent activist who was found murdered, and that all the attention around the matter made father reluctant to pull her out even though it was clear she was being targeted as well.”

 

Shuri’s eyes were wide at first. Then they narrowed. “Then what?”

“The same thing you found out. Her Kimoyo bead detected Cardiac arrest.” T’Challa watched fury bloom on Shuri’s face, “so we thought her dead and unrecoverable.”

“So we just abandoned her there? Not even attempt to give her a proper burial?”

 

“Sometimes our mistakes echo…” T’Challa had no words to defend the action, “There is something you should know now. M’Koni claims the girl we brought back with us from America is Kobya.”

“But how?” Shuri felt like the sudden news was giving her whiplash.

“I am not sure.” T’Challa admitted lowly. “The girl herself claims otherwise though.”

 

“Do you,” he could see the hope on his sister’s face grow, “think she’s lying?”

“I have no reason to believe M’Koni is.” T’Challa admitted quietly, “but there are so many~”

“Let me back into the lab. Let me see this girl.”

 

**“Are you sure?”**

 

“That’s like asking if I’m Black. Course I’m sure, Princess.” She was sitting on the bed, and gestured to herself. “Name’s Aisha Cole. I’m American. I want to go _back_ to America.” Aisha stared at Shuri, her gaze steady, and resolute. She drew her dreadlocks out of her eyes with her hand, and T’Challa and Shuri both noticed it then. A scar, dark and pigmented through the right eye. The Left eye darker than the right. Aisha frowned at them both. “We done here?”

 

“But…” The protest died on Shuri’s lips, being instead replaced with frustration as she looked over to Okoye. The older woman had her arms crossed tightly over her chest and was instead looking to M’Koni. “But M’Koni and even Okoye said…?”

 

“And I’m telling you they’re wrong. I have no mother.” Aisha hissed. Shuri noted that both women seemed to have flinched at that particular declaration. “Nevermind two.”

 

“Wait,” Shuri paused for a moment and then noted, “I never told you I was a Princess.”

“I…” Aisha was faltering, “saw it on television. You’re the Princess of Wakanda, heading all the fancy new science programs Wakanda started, right? Princess Shuri.”

 

“We’ve been cautious in what we release.” T’Challa noted catching the hole in Aisha’s story himself. “We never released what Shuri’s relation to me was beyond being part of Wakanda. Just in case.” Aisha rose to her feet, too suddenly. For a second, she blanched, turning almost grey. It was pain, Shuri realized, when she shifted her weight off her knee. Aisha hobbled, sucking in a breath each time she stepped. She shoved her way past Shuri who was frozen, unsure how to respond. T’Challa stepped in front of her before she could go anywhere.

 

“Excuse me.” Aisha spoke softly to T’Challa, voice choked with pain. “I need to leave.”

“Where do you think you’re going to?” Shuri called after her.

 

“Back to America.” Aisha spat. “I have a tough but quiet life there and a little sister. Now if you would be so kind as to get me back, that’d be appreciated.” She was suddenly pushed forward into him. She lost balance easily, pain making her yelp, adding a sheen of sweat to her brow. T’Challa caught her. He looked over to Shuri, and then to the pain stricken Aisha who trembled.

 

“What was that?” T’Challa questioned.

“Just a test.” Shuri pressed, “for research purposes.” she explained simply as she rushed back to one of her work benches, looking to Malaika. “If nothing else, your DNA won’t lie.”

 

“Shit. You little~” Aisha felt strong hands close tight on her forearms and froze, “you know, it’s against the law to detain an American? You sure you want to start a war?”

“If anything, it is you who risks starting a war.” T’Challa noted. “What is your goal?”

 

“ _To get the hell out of Wakanda!_ ” Shuri stopped when she heard the words spoken in Xhosa. Okoye and M’Koni both exchanged glances but when they moved closer, T’Challa shook his head. “Fine, you’ve got me! Aisha Cole is an American woman who was killed by the New York police! She was barely twenty, and she had a little sister she was looking after! I was there, so took her name to get away from Wakanda and it’s fantasy that it’s some goddamn utopia in this world!” Aisha hissed. “All you really are is a bunch of myopic, hypocritical cockroaches!”

 

“If that’s the case,” T’Challa pressured when Aisha tried to jerk away, “who are you?”

“Malaika Johnson!” she insisted.

 

“That’s her code name.” M’Koni informed, glaring at Malaika. “Stop being stubborn.”

“Shut up Josie! You said you were going to help me! What? Turned coward?”

“My reason for agreeing was to bring you back home, Honey Bee.”

“Well fuckin’ great!” Malaika kissed her teeth. “Never could rely on you anyways!”

 

“You’re Wakandan.” T’Challa stressed, interrupting. “I’m asking for _your_ name.”

“I gave it up! Consider me excommunicated!” Malaika hissed. T’Challa let go of her and she bolted for the ramp to the exit. She slammed into a wall shoulder first, the adrenaline losing out to the pain, her bad knee giving out on her, then pushed herself, moving up the ramp. Shuri looked at him in disbelief.

 

“Close the doors!” Shuri called. The doors at the entrance slammed shut and T’Challa looked at her in surprise. “The blood sample analysis says she is around eighteen. That’s how old Kobya would be.” She hit a button on her display and in the Vibranium sand, two sequences of DNA displayed, flashing matching bonds between the different bases. “Brother, look,” Shuri pointed to the sequenced strands, “Save some minor differences -- epigenetic changes most likely -- it’s a match to everything we have on file. It has to be her. DNA matches like this don’t just happen.”

 

Okoye was now beside Shuri looking at the display, the tension in her body leaving. “So all this time she was stuck in America?” Okoye’s wondering was cut short by the sound of Malaika punching at the lab doors and screaming at them to open. The shouting soon turned to wails. Shuri stood to move, but Okoye shook her head, silently asking her to wait.

 

“I’ll wait here.” M’Koni stated, “Princess, after giving them a moment, you should follow.”

“I was going to anyways.” Shuri insisted.

 

T’Challa and Okoye began to walk up the rising, seeing the other Dora Milaje standing guard, spears pointed at the form of Malaika who was leaning against the sealed doors to the Mount Bashenga Laboratory. Her hands were bloody, and they left prints on the white metal. He looked at the assembled Dora Milaje. It was clear they had correctly deduced that the girl before them was no danger to anyone, except herself, perhaps. He breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Okoye slowed her approach as they got closer, taking in the curled form of her long lost daughter. She was reacquainting herself with those features and how they had grown. From the dreadlocks that fell about her shoulders, to the scar that had faded so much it was hard to notice without good lighting. The shaking shoulders that trembled with each breath to choke back another sob that she took. They were broader than Okoye remembered. Stronger. Malaika threw her head forward, hitting her head on the doors with her forehead before sinking down to her knees, breathing harshly as she curled up. They stopped before they got closer.

 

“I hate it.” Malaika whispered, though in the silence it carried to them easily. “I’ve always been weak, surrounded by all of these amazing Warriors. Umama. Amai. The King. My sister. Baba. It never bothered me. Not at first. Then sister died for me.”

Okoye laid down her spear and knelt beside Malaika. She spun away from her mother, covering her head with her hands. “I always told you that you don’t have to measure yourself to anyone.”

 

“I know that!” Malaika snapped. “I know, but you don’t get it! How could you ever relate? That feeling of having people protect you and being able to do nothing!” Malaika looked up, and T’Challa gave pause as he looked at her. The gaze -- it was nothing like N’Jadaka’s, so full of rage and hate. Instead it was empty. Void. Exhausted. “Of sitting there, with a body of someone you love asking yourself why it was them instead of you!”

 

“You’re right.” Okoye agreed, “I don’t understand the feeling, but what I do know is that your sister did what she did because she knew how important you were to her and the rest of us.”

“And what have I done to honour that?” Malaika asked rhetorically.

 

“Even the weak and the fearful play an important part in the world.” T’Challa offered.

Malaika snorted. “I wish it was as simple as wearing a Lion’s mask, like you do a Panther’s.” T’Challa inhaled, then exhaled, pausing when he heard light footsteps. Shuri. He held his hand up to the other Dora Milaje when he saw Okoye reach for the teen, and her lash out striking Okoye across the cheek. Okoye hardly flinched, holding her hand out to signal the others not to move. The girl looked at the injury she inflicted, eyes wide. She withdrew even more.

 

“Who are you?” Shuri spoke from behind them. “Please. Don’t lie to us this time. I need to hear this from you.” The older girl looked at Shuri, misery written all over her face. She took a breath and held it. “I need to know.” Shuri stressed. “ _Tell me who you are._ ” She asked in Xhosa.

 

“ _My name is_ ,” she began in Xhosa, tugging at her lower lip showing without doubt the glowing tattoo, “ _Kobya._ ” Came the whisper light word, her gaze on the ground, _“Daughter of Okoye.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr. I also reply directly to comments on here :) Till next time.


	6. Bleedin' hands from the genocide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of caution, the Wakandan court have incarcerated the Strays:
> 
> Nakia believes Malaika/Kobya needs help, not a cell. Taking what she's learned on the field, she tries to get through to the teen.  
> A prison visit has M'Koni and W'Kabi prodding the elephant in the room that led her to abandon her life and partners in Wakanda.  
> Ramonda reflects with T'Challa on T'Chaka and how no matter how great a leader a man is, he is still a mortal capable of grave sins.  
> W'Kabi explains to Okoye why his, M'Koni's and now Kobya's ambivalence towards Wakanda comes from disillusionment, not hubris.  
> Gabe, one of the New York Strays has gained T'Challa's interest in possibly being the key to understand why they ignored orders.  
> Okoye learns there are few greater gifts a mother can have then to find out her child, whom she thought was dead, is now safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo. This one's a bit hefty. This is one of, if not, the longest chapter that will be in this story. I have a formula to keep chapters roughly a particular size. I find as a writer it helps keep the ideas more focused

_ “No one’s perfect, but no one’s worthless.” _

_ \---- _

 

Nakia picked her steps carefully. Years in the outside world had taught her to always be cautious, and even though she had been spending so much time here on home soil, the old habit had stayed. She was tired. It was something you also got use to in spy work depending on your assignment -- the unpredictable nature by which you had to pick up and move. However, this was Wakanda, and things were supposed to be more lax here.

 

Frowning when she saw two Dora Milaje posted at the entrance, she bowed her head in greeting before crossing her arms. They did the same. She paused to look at them both, one of them was Ayo, and she stared back, confident, silent.

 

“What am I walking into?”

“A mess.” Ayo said without the barest hint of a smile. “She was screaming for hours.” 

“T’Challa shouldn’t have given into the River Tribe Elder’s request.” Nakia scoffed.

“The Merchant Tribe also wanted this criminal locked up, or did you forget?”

“I haven’t. Seems the only ones with any sense was the Queen Mother and the King.”

 

Ayo stared down her nose at her. “She’s a criminal who has yet to be on trial.”

“She’s a child.” Nakia defended. “Only seventeen. What does traumatizing her accomplish?”

“How do you call the likes of a  _ terrorist _ a child?” Ayo questioned. “She sided with Killmonger.”

“She was sent to America when she was fourteen Ayo. Fourteen is no woman.”

“She took a War Dog assignment. She’s old enough. Her disregard for orders was criminal.”

 

“We’ll have to disagree. The only thing I think is criminal where that girl is concerned,” Nakia countered, “is that not only did someone think it was okay that a  _ fourteen year old _ wanted to go on a War Dog assignment, but we actually  _ let _ her.”

“You said it, Nakia. It was of _her_ _own_ will.” Ayo shook her head. “Either way, she’s a flight risk.”

 

“Let me in to see her.” Nakia was done with this conversation. The wounds of the civil war still seemed to sting, and it seemed, especially now, that some of the Dora Milaje blamed N’Jadaka for the deaths of some of their sisters in arms. It was only natural then that someone so willing to join N’Jadaka’s call to arms would be regarded with suspicion, but this girl, and the young man they brought in at the same time needed to be considered delicately.

 

If there is one thing Nakia had learned in her time fighting human trafficking, it was that children were impressionable. Fear was an easy way to win compliance, and once they learned about manipulation, they grew to be distrustful adults. Today, as she faced Kobya, Nakia anticipated a young woman barely out of girlhood when she should still be there in its grasp firmly.

 

With the door eased open, she stepped inside the small but dark space to see the form curled up on the floor. She was eerily silent, looking up only when the door slammed shut. Her hands were bruised and bloody as was her knee, but if she was in pain, there was no indication. Nakia slowly approached, not intending to startle, her voice low as she spoke.

 

“Want me to get some supplies and clean those up for you?” Kobya shook her head, tugging on her dreads. “How about that knee of yours, how is it?”

“Hurts like hell.”

“I’ll see that someone takes another look at it then.” Nakia sat some distance away on the floor, trying to catch the teen’s eyes. “Want to tell me what happened?”

 

**“I got angry.”**

 

W’Kabi nodded his head slowly at the words. He stayed at the far end of the cell, looking to the sitting M’Koni. She gave a forced smile before laughing, the sound was choked and tired.

 

“I know you did. I wanted you to be angry. That’s why I said it back then.”

“That whole dig about me being a horrible mother for failing both of my children and letting them both die? Yeah. How could I forget?” M’Koni scoffed. “You piece of shit.”

“I hardly think apologizing would solve it now. Okoye and I both know it was that fight that made you decide to leave for good. Leave Wakanda. Leave our relationship. Leave Okoye.” W’Kabi paused and in a lower voice added, “Leave me.”

 

“Damn right.” M’Koni laced her fingers together and scowled.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness.” W’Kabi spoke evenly, and softly. “That is yours to decide to give.”

“It’s unlikely you’ll see it.” W’Kabi saw something flicker in M’Koni’s eyes, and for a moment, he hesitated, wondering what it meant. “That was a shit thing to say.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

 

“But,” M’Koni sighed, unfolding her hands, “you were grieving a lost child just like I was. You lost your parents, made yourself a little family with me, Okoye and our kids, lost our eldest and then our youngest. You’ve always been sensitive to that. Loss.” M’Koni’s eyes seemed ever so gentle as she looked at him. “Doesn’t make you less shit for saying that. Just gives me something to consider going forward if I’m going to be staying in Wakanda for now on.” 

 

“Thank you, M’Koni.”

“Pfft. I said I’d consider it. Don’t get your hopes up.” M’Koni looked away from him, “frankly, the real make or break of my staying is what Kobya wants.”

“Which is?” W’Kabi shifted from foot to foot. It was not the first time he had heard his daughter’s name spoken in these last few days, but it still stunned him and filled him with so many questions he didn’t know where to start.

 

“Well,” M’Koni looked torn, “that depends on which Kobya you are speaking to.” W’Kabi stared at her for a long time. “Yeah. She‘s just like her Baba. Loss, and losing people isn’t something she’s good with.” M’Koni sighed, thinking on it. “By the love of the Goddess — they say it’s nature  _ and _ nurture that makes a person. I know she got very little gene wise from me but still, when it comes to her personality, I see nothing about Kobya that’s anything like me.” W’Kabi held his tongue. He wasn’t sure he agreed with that, but he knew M’Koni. Trying to argue the point which she had so completely convinced herself of was like speaking to a wall.

 

“When I was a small boy,” W’Kabi began, “and they were burying my parents, I asked them to bury me with them. I didn’t want to live without them.” He saw M’Koni nod, “and as I became a teenager, I realized what happened, why it was, and I was so angry. I wanted the King to do something. I wanted Wakanda to do something, but they stood still.”

 

“Sometimes she seems like our little girl. Usually, when she’s speaking of Shuri, she gets this light in her eyes. But most of the time? I can only describe Kobya as self loathing and furious.” M’Koni noted, “that’s the version of her I worry about. I heard she’s in a cell right now?”

 

“Yes, that’s right. At the behest of the head of the River Tribe Elder it would seem.” He saw M’Koni make a face at that, clearly unimpressed. “I doubt you have the sway you’re hoping for to change the River Tribe Elder’s mind on that. You left them decades ago.”

 

“Kobya needs help. Doctors. Psychologists. The promise that she is somewhere safe. Finally safe. What our daughter does not need is a jail cell.” Drawing breath from between her teeth, M’Koni glared off into the distance, “I don’t know what is more telling, that this was Wakanda’s reply to our child that they damaged, or that I am not surprised?”

 

“That’s why you left, isn’t it?” W’Kabi nodded slowly. “Wakanda’s too slow to change in the ways it really needs to. In the ways the world really needs it to.”

“Yes.”

“What happened after?” W’Kabi let his eyes flicker to trace along the angles of her face. Gaunt. From stress and maybe age. M’Koni was how old now?

 

“Fifty-one since May.” It was like little time had passed between them. She was always gifted at reading others. “That makes Okoye how old, forty, now?”

“There about, come the end of the year.”

“And you’re just thirty-seven, right?” M’Koni smiled. “Aww, sweet babu, how cute.”

 

His face flushed with heat and he cleared his throat. “How did you know our daughter lived?”

 

“It was a little too neat.” M’Koni noted. “Kind of like with his brother, right? Missing pieces. Purposefully missing pieces. Lacklustre info where there was painful detail before.”

“Kobya has never been particularly gifted in battle. If there was one then it made~”

 

“Sure,” M’Koni agreed interrupting, “that was Chandra’s thing, not hers. It was always a worry her heart would trouble her in such a stressful situation despite the countless reassurances we’ve had that the surgeries meant she would have a normal life, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know how to drop a man twice her size in five seconds. Okoye and I taught her well. The whole schtick of her suddenly being dead made no sense to me. Then it didn’t add up.”

 

They stared at each other from each end of the room, him still standing with his arms crossed, M’Koni with her arms propped on her knees, dangling. Nodding, W’Kabi finally crossed the distance between and sat beside M’Koni, who shuffled to make sure he had enough space.

 

“You know what slayed the Rhino?” M’Koni shook her head. “The fact that T’Chaka never bothered to find her body. America was erupting into chaos — I understood that. Our spies from all over told us of the men and women and  _ children _ their police killed, but we could see it on the news everywhere. The mass protests and riots it sparked.” W’Kabi inhaled, then sighed. “I knew in my heart Kobya, like our other War Dogs there, was front and center to these incidents that the whole world was watching.” He had paused then, licking his lips, trying to put the thought together. “I think His majesty forgot that while the world watched, so did Wakanda and her people. Knowing some of our people were out there, trying to make a good difference while we stayed in our safe homes while literally our own children fought those battles… it didn’t sit right.”

 

M’Koni nodded her head in solemn understanding. “That’s the problem, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

 

**“Always looking out. Never looking in. That is the Wakandan way.”**

 

T’Challa breathed in the scent of ash and soot. The Royal Gardens once held a majestic glow, but now it was dark and lifeless. Occasionally, the flicker of a still lit lamp would cast shadows but when it gave light, all it did was highlight how barren  everything was. He raised his head, dark eyes peering at his mother. Ramonda sat on a set of stairs not too far from him, her long, white hair, almost glowing in the darkness as she stared into the flames.

 

“What do you mean mother?” Those words didn’t sound like his mother at all.

 

“My son, part of being the Queen,” Ramonda began, “is realizing you are taking on the task of being one of a ruler’s closest confidants. That you will know many of his sins. You will know things that he prays to his god about. Regrets that keeps him up late at night. He will at some point in time tell you something that makes you question  _ ‘can I truly love this person, this grand protector of a people who would kill me without hesitation if I were to ever endanger Wakanda?’ _ And makes you ask yourself that over and over again.”

 

A thread of anxiety, like electricity ran through the air. T’Challa tried to discharge it. 

 

“I understand. Killing Uncle N’Jobu and leaving N’Jadaka was his gravest sin.”

“It was far from his only, my son.” Ramonda revealed, closing her eyes with a sigh.

“Mother.” T’Challa began almost like he was pleading. “Do you think my father was a bad man?”

“No.” Ramonda shook her head. “He was a good man finding it hard to be King. Sometimes, men like him, men like you, need to stumble as you grow as leaders. His sins are his stumbles.”

 

“Tell me then,” T’Challa curled and uncurled his hands, feeling each muscle tense then release, tense then release, “where that girl is considered, what was his sin?”

“That child…” Ramonda tapped her lips, frowning, “several times when young boys and men were being killed in the streets and it was all over the American news, she begged and begged for us to step in when she sent reports. Your father said no.”

 

“Is that all?” T’Challa frowned, walking along the stone pathway that separated the two garden beds that were once filled with the heart shaped herb. It was forbidding to see them so empty. He tore his eyes away. “Why would you tell me this?”

 

“She’s not like N’Jadaka, T’Challa.” Ramonda allowed him to draw close before she turned to face him. “She was raised by us. By Wakanda. She knows our reasons for staying uninvolved better than N’Jadaka ever could. We knew her from when her mother still had her on the tete.” Ramonda pressed her hands together, watching as T’Challa eased himself down on the stairs beside her. “Your father feared radical change, but I think he also feared when those younger than him saw more that he in his age and wisdom. Like any Wakandan man, he had his pride and it faulted him sometimes. Made him slow to act when it stung him.”

 

“Could you blame him?” T’Challa posed. Ramonda shook her head. “Besides, what could a child possibly know better than a King?” T’Challa almost wanted to scoff, but he held back. He knew better. Sometimes it was best to beg the question than to assume he was right. 

 

“They say those who live hand in hand with death live a life walking beside Bast the Panther God and they are blessed and able to see much more than most.”

 

“She was very sickly as a child, right?” His mother nodded. “I remember Okoye telling me when she’d be in for surgery.” It clicked. The dreams of a girl wandering the plains of the spirit realm. Of being a creature in the trees watching her navigate the land of the dead like it was home to her. He frowned at the thought. “The Ancestral realm. She can go to D’Jalia easily?”

 

“I wouldn’t say  _ easily _ ,” Ramonda explained, “but your father knew it was a frequent occurrence for her that she can engage in willingly. That was the rumour, at least.”

 

“Since when?”

“Since she was a girl. It was one of the reasons T’Chaka asked her to go to America. Our technology advanced faster, but there were still limitations, and a world that was catching up. The sort of problem a traditionalist like your father thought at first could be overcome by the old and mystical ways through the power bestowed by Bast.”

 

“D’Jalia…” T’Challa echoed. “The first War Dogs were Shamans loyal to the crown.”

“Yes, my son. Back in the days of old, men and women who could enter a trance and be in D’Jalia would become spies for the throne all across the world. They would meet others with the ability to do so. Almost every King who has had that throne could do such a thing willingly, or with a guide. D’Jalia knows no distance and only those who know of it and have faced and accepted their death can get there by will.”

 

“Then Shuri and the other scientists improved our technology. We’ve had no need for those ways for the last six years, mother. Possibly even longer.”

 

“Yes this is true, we have been using a blended approach for decades even. Never have we completely turned from the ways of old, however,” Ramonda agreed, “and you were the Black Panther when Shuri began doing that. You were open to these changes in the technology. Your father was not completely embracive of it. But the mantle was yours, so he let you handle those missions while he played spy master, and the growth of the outside world scared him. So he sent a group of teens and young adults to America to investigate the growing civil unrest.”

 

“Without telling me.”

“It was not for you to know.” Ramonda gestured, then let her hands rest in her lap. “That child was sent because she was so strong in the old ways. Your father wanted at least one spy that he could communicate with directly, whom he felt would give unfiltered information.”

 

“She would do that, alone? Go to D’Jalia?” T’Challa’s eyes widened. “That’s dangerous. It could have killed her! That's precisely why in the old days a War Dog would only be active for a few years before retiring! What was father thinking?”

 

“I couldn’t say for certain. T’Chaka never explained the dangers to me.” Ramonda took in a breath. “In her last communication with your father she told him that Wakanda only knows out to look outwards, not inside to where it’s rotten, and that she was going to stay where she was needed and could change things.”

 

“Always looking out, never looking in. That’s the Wakandan way.” T’Challa echoed his mother’s previous words. “So Kobya said that,” he deduced, “about Wakanda?”

“That was her last communication.” Ramonda sighed. “T’Chaka told me he issued for her to pull out after her last report and that was her response,”

 

“She chose to remain there?”

“Yes.” Ramonda lifted a shoulder, then let it fall. “I didn’t know how to tell Okoye.”

 

“Tell me something more, mother,” He pressed his lips together, staring at the pillar where the flames of a set of torches lit the sand. “My father’s decision — after years, decades of being a staunch supporter of our isolation and of traditional ways — was it those riots and murders hat made him realize we needed to enter the world? That made him go to the UN?”

 

**“I certainly think that had something to do with it.”**

 

“What do you mean you think? It explains everything: her distrust for the Dora Milaje, her bitterness for Wakanda.” Okoye looked to W’Kabi, eyes full of fury. “She use to say she wanted to be one just like me and M’Koni. Now she flinches at the sight.”

 

“M’Koni told me that at one point they had her arrested,” W’Kabi explained softly, “and when she came to get her, they had her in solitary in complete darkness. That is when M’Koni thinks a lot of those issues began.” He watched as Okoye clenched her fist and sighed, shaking her head. “I know why you have been hesitant, but you should go see her. I’m sure she misses you.”

 

“Who, my daughter or our lover?” Okoye posed.

“Both.” W’Kabi explained simply. Okoye shook her head and sighed.

 

“Listen, before his death, N’Jadaka told me stories.” W’Kabi stated. He was watching Okoye. Every move she made, how she seemed corded with tension. When he said the name, he could see her almost flinching, and in his mind’s eye he could see the two of them. He with sword in hand, her with a spear aimed for his neck. He sighed.

 

“When,” Okoye spoke softly, her footsteps halted, she had been pacing but now no longer, though she stood behind him, “when was this?”

“When I asked who he was and started bringing him back to the Palace.” He heard Okoye inhale, soft, slow. The breath drew until she couldn’t and then she held it for a moment before letting go. He could imagine her chest rising and falling dramatically with the gesture.

 

“What did he say?”

“I thought you said you didn’t want to hear it?” W’Kabi threw back.

“We as Wakanda also said we’d have nothing to do with the world.” A pause. “Things change.”

 

W’Kabi sighed, staring at the wood of the table in the small room. He heard Okoye’s quiet footfalls begin again, circling around him in a manner he found slightly maddening. She was poised like a predator, ready to attack, never quite fully trusting him, and though he wanted to call her out on it, he knew better than to comment.

 

“America is not what it makes itself out to be.”

“We’ve known that for years, W’Kabi.”

“They keep the people isolated in communities they can ignore. They give little money to the schools there so their children remain ignorant. They make it almost impossible for them to own homes.” He saw Okoye’s hands clenched into a fist. She sighed, then began to pace again.

 

“What else did he tell you?”

“He spoke about men who get away with murdering children because of their uniforms.” W’Kabi continued, “no, even those who don’t wear the uniform, they still get to live their lives while mothers grieve children and lost futures.” Okoye stopped pacing. She held her spear with both hands, leaning into it a bit more, her eyes falling close as she took a breath.

 

“His Majesty’s father,” Okoye began, “before he died mentioned some of this. It came directly from our young War Dogs in America.” Her hands shook, so restless like she was, she began to pace again. W’Kabi watched with equal parts fascination and concern. “I may have been the General for the last few years, but T’Chaka always controlled the espionage. He never let anyone else handle it, not even me. He said he didn’t want me to take a King’s responsibility.”

 

“A King’s responsibility?”

“Yes,” she paused, searching for the words, “Espionage means you are choosing who will be in constant danger. It’s not like a battlefield where you know for certain not all of you will make it. You are sending people out in a situation where if the truth comes out about who they are, they will be taking their own lives to protect Wakanda, at best, or tortured for information.”

 

“That’s how Kobya was chosen, wasn’t it?” W’Kabi saw her flinch. Watched her shuffle, looking away from him. It was not the first time he had spoken their daughter’s name to her, but he could tell it made her uneasy. “You...went along with it. Was that it?”

“Not fully.” Okoye gritted out, her voice low. “She wanted to serve Wakanda. How could I stop our daughter when we raised her to believe that Wakanda came before all else?

 

“M’Koni has always been known to disagree with him quite loudly,” W’Kabi was putting the dots together now, and his eyes widened, “that was why when it became time, he picked you.”

 

“I…” Okoye let the words of protest die, “that played a  _ role  _ in it.”

“And that is why M’Koni and you started to have more and more issue seeing eye to eye.”

“Again,” Okoye protested, “that played a role.”

 

“A large one.” Okoye didn’t bother to protest his insistence on this. Instead she walked to the far edge of the room, to a window, looking to the outside, to the overlook of the capital, to the high rises far in the distance, to the small taxi trolleys moving through the streets below.

 

“Why?” Okoye whispered. Her voice was barely audible, but he had moved from his seat and stood beside her, had caught the shape of her lips to know.

“Why what, my love?” W’Kabi asked ever so gently.

“Why side with Killmonger?” Okoye took a breath, “You said you loved T’Challa like a brother.”

“I tired of seeing my family die or suffer while Wakanda stood still and others suffered the same.”

“Acting isn’t always  _ possible _ , W’Kabi, not if it comes at the expense of many!” Okoye stressed.

“So families suffer because it’s convenient for Wakanda?” The accusation was damning. “Do we not make Wakanda? Is this the land we are? Letting people  _ die _ for our status quo?”

 

“We chose our will, W’Kabi.” Okoye pointed out resolutely, turning to stare him down. “We chose our roles. We chose our paths. We chose to serve Wakanda. We chose to sacrifice ourselves.”

 

**“And what has Wakanda ever done to thank you or acknowledge what you’ve given?”**

 

Nakia was silent for a long time. Eyes turned to the task at hand, she pulled the bandages perhaps a bit too tight. It earned her a hiss and the twinned hand reaching and trying to intervene. In return, Nakia lightly smacked the injured hand for her trouble and tied it carefully.

 

“Nothing major. A word from our Kings. Enough to take care of everyone dear to me.”

“In exchange for possibly your life.” Kobya scowled “Is that really good enough?”

“Well…”

“Then why are you still here? You were in another country. You could have stayed.”

“And I almost did.” Nakia admitted lowly, “because I was needed there. I was making a difference, but loyalty is a complicated thing.”

 

How did they get on this topic again? Nakia decided it ultimately didn’t matter as she looked to Kobya’s freshly bandaged hands. The teen was looking back at her. Kobya was the first to break eye contact through, inhaling and exhaling shakily. 

 

“Thank you.”

“I’m happy to help. Really.” Nakia rose to her feet and looked down at the teenager. Dressed in basic grey prison garments -- a shirt and skirt like bottoms, it was clear to see on her dark skin that her right knee was shades darker than the rest of her. Swollen and puffy with healing scars even darker than the bruises. “We should get that knee looked at.”

 

“You know,” Kobya folded her hands gingerly, “have you ever gotten too deep once?” Nakia gestured at her to elaborate. “Spy to spy. Be honest. You’ve been doing it way longer than me.” Kobya laughed awkwardly at that small admittance. “We go undercover. We construct a brand new life. We live it. Sometimes we really like it.” Kobya’s eyelashes fluttered, “Have you ever found yourself wanting to believe this new version of yourself is real?”

 

“Ah. That.” Nakia found that was the information she needed to start pulling some of the pieces together. She looked at Kobya empathetically. “Some would say that is becoming the mask. We try to discourage our War Dogs from doing it, but it’s hard. It’s what makes most Strays become stray, usually.” Nakia sighed. It was something their country had been trying hard to counter, but there was only so much training and psychological testing you could do. Put someone somewhere long enough, living a life long enough to make it mundane, and going back to their “real” life always became a little more difficult. “In order to be good at what we do we have to be believable. Sometimes the easiest way to be believable is to have a small part of ourselves believe.” Nakia explained very gently. “And once one part of you believes, the rest of our mind can follow and it’s very hard to seperate it all out again.”

 

“I remember that from training.” Kobya nodded vaguely. “Is there any way helping it?”

“I’ll see whom I can contact.” She gave Kobya a small smile as she packed away the medical supplies, looking to Kobya again. “We have resources for retired War Dogs.”

“Is a criminal still eligible though?”

 

Nakia stood up, her expression pinched. “How old are you?” Kobya hesitated. Nakia filled it in for her. “Seventeen. You were born in nineteen ninety-nine. One year before Shuri.” She saw the girl’s face light up at the mention of the Princess. Interesting. “Malaika, your cover, was twenty, but you, Kobya, are seventeen. You are not Malaika Johnson. You are Kobya, daughter of Okoye. You are of Wakanda.” She saw Kobya open her mouth to protest but she shook her head. “By the world’s -- and Wakanda’s standards, you are still very much a child.”

“I’m a young woman, thank you.” That got Nakia smiling a little bit at the sass. “So...?”

 

“So,” Nakia echoed, drawing the word out, “an adult commiting treason is liable to capital punishment or life in prison. There aren’t really laws for a child though. Because a child is not an adult, and if you ask the world, someone like you?” She looked Kobya up and down, “Should be treated as a victim of the battlefield long before you can be considered a criminal.”

 

**“Do you really think so?”**

 

There was silence, then a laugh. “Well Buziba?”

“I’m tellin’ you, Mr. King of Wakanda, you want answers from me, then call me Gabe. I gave up my Wakandan name.” Buziba looked to T’Challa without fear, without hesitation. He grinned at him, even though his hands were restrained. Ayo started from her place beside T’Challa, spear at the ready. “As for Josie, I beat the shit out of her ‘cause she asked for it. Nuthin’ more.”

 

“I know what sort of person you were before we sent you away.” T’Challa admitted, leaning back in his seat as he looked over the younger man. “You are not the sort of man who just turns on his own. I know for a fact all of you espoused some reason to ignore our order to stand down. M’Koni started her reasons was to maneuver the situation to one where she could return her daughter home. Kobya spoke of being dissatisfied with Wakanda’s lack of action.”

 

“So you gonna find out why I went along, that it?” He shook his head. “Really man?”

“You will speak to our King respectfully. Do not make me remind you again.” Ayo hissed.

“You want me t’spill? Get rid of your goddamn pig,  _ King of Wakanda _ , and I’ll spill.”

“What did you call me?” Ayo began to advance, but T’Challa raised his arm, barring her.

“A pig.” Buziba grinned. “Like those in uniform back in NY. You Dora chicks be just like ‘em.”

 

“Ayo,” T’Challa bowed his head, “thank you for being patient. Could you…”

“You want me to leave you alone with this man?” Ayo looked at him incredulously. “Seriously?”

“I think that might be for the best.” He caught her gaze and saw anger there. “I’m sorry.”

“As you wish my King.” Ayo glared at Buziba before pivoting on heel and heading out. The door slammed after her and Buziba laughed loudly.

 

“Now,” T’Challa stared him down, “will you answer my questions, Buziba?”

“Said the name’s Gabe.”

T’Challa relented. “Gabe.” He paused. “Is there anything else you want to request?”

 

“Well,” Gabe held T’Challa’s eyes, “Since you askin’, how’s little Mz. Malaika? She good?”

The name rung bells. It was a pseudonym. Kobya’s. “Currently, she’s being detained.”

“Ooh, wrong answer.” Gabe kissed his teeth, “listen, I’mma need you t’spring her out ‘fore she does something chupit like hang herself, understand? She a bit touched, get me?”

“I think so,” T’Challa noted this, “So I take it that you care about her a lot?”

“Don’t get it twisted.” Gabe dismissed, “she was the youngest your father sent. Ashanti and I? We both were eighteen. Mostly grown. She though? Fourteen. A  _ baby _ . He sent a  _ fuckin’ kid _ .”

 

“If I do that, will you tell me about your mission and what you had intended to do when you broke away?” T’Challa watched the man consider the words carefully before he nodded.

“Well, considerin’ you’ve been humourin’ me so far, I’ll tell you sumthin’: not all of the old Panther statues the Five Tribes made millenia ago are of Panthers.” Gabe grinned when T’Challa looked at him with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Not just Panther statues?” T’Challa took it in slowly. “What were they of? Tell me.”

“Eh, eh,” Gabe shook her head, “no way, man. That was just a taste test. You go do what I ask and I’ll be happy to spill on how awful Wakanda is.”

 

**“Do you really think Wakanda is that terrible?”**

 

The voice shocked her. She lifted her head to see the newest visitor to her jail cell. The tattoos she had dreamed of for ages but to see the bald woman here in front of her was something all together. She rushed to her feet, ignoring the protest of her knee to jog over to her visitor, shocked, pained. Her knee gave out and Okoye caught her, steadying her. Kobya looked up at her mother in awe. Okoye looked down at her daughter in worry and concern. Steading Kobya, she lifted a hand to brush away the dreadlocks from her face.

 

“You look just like your grandmother with that hair.” She whispered, her hand cupping a cheek as her eyes traced along the line of those scars on her face. She knew those scars so well. They had been a feature of her daughter’s face since she was seven. “You’re really here.”

“Umama?” Kobya breathed, in shock. Okoye nodded, choked up for words. She hugged Kobya back when the girl gave her a crushing hug and spoke into her shoulder. “I missed you.”

 

“I missed you too, Honey Bee.” Okoye pulled away to examine every inch of her, from head to toe. She was short. Shorter than her. Shorter than Shuri, but she held strength in her body. 

“Are you mad at me for going away?” Okoye shook her head.

“No.” She pulled Kobya back to her, feeling her daughter’s head rest in the crook of her neck. Then Kobya was crying. “I’m just glad I get to hold you again after thinking I never would.”

“Umama, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, honey, it’s okay. You’re back now. You’re safe.” Okoye promised. “Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to reach out here, or on tumblr.  
> Have a good one and until next time :)


	7. Clean Me Up, Beam Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa finds that when it comes to making the right call, Ramonda will always support him.  
> Nakia shares her pride in T'Challa with him, and her observations on the youngest of the Strays.  
> Shuri and Kobya discuss Heart Shaped Herbs, lies, video games and anything that isn't involving Kobya's time in America.  
> Okoye and M'Koni find that knowing how to burn someone you love when you're angry is easy, but being gentle is so much harder.  
> Shuri and Nakia realize that what happened in America has left it's mark on Kobya, one that leaves her frayed on the edges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally watched Infinity Wars, and it's given me ideas for later. :) Not really specifically ideas for this story, though some subtle (not spoiler) elements may make their way in, so that I can make allusions to how this is still connected to things in the MCU. That doesn't make a whole lot of sense right now, but trust me when I say, in a world that focuses on a lot of extraordinary people, I'm trying to send the story in a direction where Kobya's occasional involvement in this world would make sense.

_ “Thank God I never had to knock your partner off, or be an another casualty of war, Amen” _

\----

 

T’Challa felt it like a vice grip. It was that same heavy hearted feeling he got when he picked up N’Jadaka’s lifeless body and carried it to the throne room for a moment to collect himself before ordering a funeral. Though the situation was neither as dire nor unsettling, there was something painful about watching Okoye’s blatant restlessness as she ran drills with the Dora Milaje. Her voice, usually controlled and even, was harsh as she commanded them to repeat the exercise. When one of the members failed to execute the maneuver perfectly, Okoye was commanding that everyone started again from the top. Ayo was by his side, frowning as gravely as him.

 

“She seems off.” He murmured quietly. “She’s running the drills harder than usual.”

“The General has had a lot on her shoulders since W’Kabi’s betrayal to the throne,” Ayo confirmed. They heard Okoye yell for the drill to start from the top, “the recent streses of M’Koni’s return and Kobya being alive have only made that more challenging, I am certain.” 

 

“How true.” He folded his hands behind his back just as he heard someone arrive at his side. He turned to take in the sight of Nakia and his mother laughing amongst themselves, and he froze, taking in the gentleness of Ramonda’s smile and the bright joy on Nakia’s face.

 

“Mother, it’s so good to see you.”

“My son, seeing you always makes me so happy!” Ramonda beamed at him, “I was just speaking to Nakia about that girl. You made a hard but important decision last month. I know those in the Council are still disagreeing, but I want you to know I agree with you.” Ramonda reassured. “Kobya should not be in prison. Not for a day. Not for an entire month.” He felt something grip his heart. “She is a child whom we made a soldier. War crimes or not, she is a victim first. A victim of Wakanda’s own failures. Punishing her for that is cruel.” He paused at the echoed rhetoric, one that he had heard from W’Kabi rather recently as well.

 

He shuffled, shooting a glance over his shoulder. “How did you know it was bothering me?”

Ramonda hummed. “Because few things escape the eyes of a mother.” She looked to Ayo and then nodded. “Ayo, I would appreciate if you accompanied me while I pay a visit to T’Chaka.”

 

“Very well, Queen Mother.” Ayo crossed her arms, then broke the X, looking to T’Challa, “if it is alright with you My King, shall I accompany her?”

“Yes, go, go.” T’Challa sighed when he saw his mother and the guard leave. That meant it was him and Nakia. He looked at her, from her red hair, to the rouge she chose to her lips, her dark eyes settling on him both daring him and playful.

 

“Mister King of Wakanda,” Nakia spoke to him softly. “I’m proud of you, T’Challa.” She stepped closer, reaching for his hand. He grasped hers eagerly. “Very proud.”

“What for?” He teased. She playfully shoved his shoulder. There was a brief laugh between the two before she moved closer, resting her head on his chest, both of her hands in both of his.

 

“I don’t think the you of six months ago, no, three even, would have done this.” Nakia explained simply, looking to the palace, “I remember, one of the reasons why we parted was because we just couldn’t agree on just how much we needed to hold on to the old ways.”

“If I followed the old ways now, nearly a fifth of Wakanda would be dead or imprisoned.”

“Exactly.” Nakia let her breath escape her. “These are no longer the old times. It still scares me, what happened with N’Jadaka, but I don’t think killing everyone who disagrees solves anything.”

 

“People don’t fight just for the sake of the strife,” T’Challa agreed, “N’Jadaka showed me that. Even at his angriest and most vicious, there was still a child who hurt at the wrongs against him and his father.” T’Challa looked back out to the courtyard, watching Okoye march up and down the line of the Dora Milaje, “I’d like to think that’s why W’Kabi sided with N’Jadaka too.”

 

“How does that go?”

“We haven’t talked about where we stand with each other.” He saw Nakia shoot him a pained glance, squeezing his hands. “I’m not sure if it’s because he feels angry or guilty.” The tension of that thought held in the air. He felt Nakia’s fingers run along his forearms.

 

“Kobya,” Nakia was changing the topic now, and she smiled, “has been doing better. The last time anyone’s seen her with fresh wounds has been about a week ago.” T’Challa felt some of the anxiety he felt around the topic ease. “She is still very withdrawn from everything though.”

“Let’s hope that changes.” T’Challa could only hope. “Thank you, Nakia.” he added, “I needed someone who I trusted who could also be sensitive about the issue and how incredibly delicate it is. I know you have projects to work on as well too, so to put all of those aside just for my~”

 

“Listen,” she shushed him, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his lips, “Before, when we left each other, T’Challa, I understand why you clung to tradition for so long, and I don’t blame you. I love who we are, the core of that didn’t have to change, just like who you are doesn’t have to change. I am not putting anything aside to be here, I have  _ chosen _ to be here for you.”

 

“Thank you.” Fingers tangled, they began to walk down the hallways of the Palace. T’Challa knew where they were heading: Mount Bashenga. It was a slow, dawdling path, however. Time with Nakia had been scarce lately, and he was going to take as much time as he could.

 

“I left Kobya resting in her room, last.” Nakia rolled her eyes. “Not sure how long  _ that _ will be.”

“Let me guess: Shuri?” Nakia nodded. He cocked an eyebrow. “Is this going where I believe?”

“They find ways to meet each other when they think no one notices.” Nakia confirmed. T’Challa snorted. “They’re also good at dancing around the topic.” Nakia added, “Kobya has a Dora.”

“Well I’m sure Shuri knows Kobya is being closely watched, so I guess I have little to worry in terms of accidentally walking in.” Nakia laughed. “Has Kobya said anything about America?”

 

“No.” Nakia sighed, her dark eyes shining with worry. “She speaks little. All I can say is that she seems calmer now.” Nakia leaned in so her voice didn’t carry as much, “I’ve seen it with the women and girls who were stolen from their villages. They hate being trapped or powerless.”

 

“Indefinite time in prison would be both.” T’Challa concluded. 

“I mean, comparing her to victims of such things -- human trafficking and child soldiers -- makes sense. It hurts my heart to realize that we as Wakanda did this to some of our own children.”

“She  _ was _ a child soldier.” T’Challa insisted. “War Dogs are spies. War Dogs are soldiers. We cannot shy away from it or it will only happen again.” He watched Nakia pause before nodding.

 

“T’Challa, I can say as a spy myself,” Nakia looked away from T’Challa, frowning, “there are things you do in our world, calls you make that…” she trailed off, clearly uncomfortable, “Kobya is _just_ seventeen. She may have fooled Americans in thinking she was older for her cover, but when I see her move, talk, it is with a heaviness _no_ seventeen year old should have.”

“Then we have a responsibility to help her heal and return to a civilian life here in Wakanda.”

 

**“Where are we going to start?”**

 

Shuri was hovering over the small seedlings that showed some semblance of life this time. She wrote notes furiously, watching as shaky hands carefully poured a small amount of water to dampen the soil. About to reach out for the leaves of one plant, Shuri’s hand was shooed away. She frowned at the person responsible, tensing when those mismatched eyes landed on her.

 

“Here.” Kobya barely spoke over a whisper. She raised her hand -- covered in swathes of white bandages -- to turn off the lamp over the planter. She shifted in her seat, careful of her knee.

“Why the light of all things?” Shuri frowned at her.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The older girl chucked, “The Royal Garden,” Kobya closed her eyes, “ is dark.”

 

“Right. It’s only the Heart shaped Herb and torches that gave it illumination.” If Shuri was honest, she had forgotten. Years of taking it for granted meant when it was gone, she couldn’t picture it’s state before the fire as clearly as she ought. It made her feel foolish. The answer was so simple that Shuri almost wanted to call herself stupid. Given the stern, silent look she got, her current company would have shut that down sooner than she could say the words.

 

“Hey, Shuri…” Kobya paused, “you sure I c’n be here?” she asked with an American accent.

“Here?” Shuri felt something pained in her chest. “In Wakanda you mean?”

“No.” Kobya’s shoulders were nearly to her ears. “The lab.  _ Your _ lab.” She stressed.

“Of course!” Shuri forced a laugh, but stopped when Kobya flinched. “Brother said so, right?”

“I’m  _ not _ asking the King.” Kobya sounded frustrated and flustered. She looked away from Shuri. 

 

“Can I ask you something, Kobya?” She got a nod in response. “Why did you lie to us?”

“Cuz I lie.” Kobya threw back, catching her gaze only to avert her eyes again. 

Shuri hesitated when she heard the accent return. It was odd and telling. “Why?”

Kobya fidgeted. “Cuz that’s what liars do, Shuri, an’ spies are  _ expert  _ liars.”

“Well it’s obvious you’re a liar and a spy, but thank you for clarifying.” Shuri rolled her eyes at Kobya’s response. “For a second there I was really convinced you were actually an aardvark.”

“A -- what?” Kobya looked baffled, the accent dropping, “What in Bast’s name are you even...?” 

 

“Nothing.” Shuri flashed a small smile. She examined Kobya’s face for a long moment. From the piercings along the bridge of her nose, to the septum piercing, the mismatched eyes. Kobya did not speak for a long time. She leaned back when Shuri reached out, backing just out of reach. 

 

“Remember when we were little?” Shuri tried gently. “Like the time I asked you about Rhinos?”

“Yes.” Kobya fidgeted in her seat again, this time rubbing her knee. Shuri made note of it.

“It’s amazing how simple the world seemed. Then your sister died and I realized...” Kobya shifted so she was turned away. “Baba was taken just as suddenly too. When Chandra~”

“Hey,” Kobya spoke lowly interrupting, “Jus did a count. Seems we low on fertilizer again…”

 

“Who was Aisha?” Shuri asked undeterred by Kobya’s attempt to derail, “Was losing her like losing Chandra?” She was onto something, she could tell. If Kobya couldn’t bring herself to say it, Shuri would fill in the blanks. “I saw your injuries. They’re not your first gunshot wounds.”

“Who gave you permission t’look?” A response. Finally. But it was with that accent too. Curious.

“You were almost dead. They got desperate.” Shuri declared flippantly. “Besides, I had a hand in making the latest version of that technology. No one knows it like I do. I was the best choice.”

 

“Must be nice.” Kobya breathed. Shuri frowned. The sudden bitterness didn’t sit well with her.

“What? Would you have preferred we didn’t? You would have died, you know.”

“So?” Kobya looked her dead in the eye. Her eyes dark and void. “People die  _ all _ the time.”

 

“So?” Shuri echoed. “Did you just -- are you serious?” Shuri found herself stumbling over words. She meant it as a light jab, a brush of reality to the nature of the situation and how serious it had been. A wake up call. Now she was at a loss. Of all the responses, she wasn’t expecting an openly admitted death wish. “You would have made your mothers sad. Your Baba too.”

 

“They mourned.” Kobya was now limping off to a corner of the lab, looking at another set of plants, quietly trying to escape the conversation. “I’m sure it weren’t that long. Chandra was more their speed. I was sick in the womb and still sick after. I was destined for D’Jalia.” She looked to Shuri, eyes dark, the accent dropping, “Amai, when she kept vigil at the hospital, use to joke I knew every whisker on Bast’s face from how often I came close.” Kobya paused to lick her lips. “If either of their children were going to die, I think my parents expected it to be me.”

 

“That’s not how that works!” Shuri shouted after her. Startled, Kobya nearly knocked over a planter, which served to make Kobya tense even more at the unexpected sound. Shuri cursed under her breath at it, watching the older girl fix the mess with trembling hands, shooting her an apologetic glance. It was clear Kobya didn’t want to discuss this topic much longer, that it caused her a lot of distress for no good reason right now, so Shuri allowed her to switch topics.

 

“You know,” Kobya gently took a leaf of one of the specimens between her fingers, lightly tugging it, “I’m happy you found your niche, Shuri. Something that really set you apart from your brother and his skills. It’s made it clear how talented, valuable and incredibly special you really are to everyone in Wakanda. I’m glad.” The compliment had Shuri’s cheeks burning, and she managed a bashfully awkward smile, earning a small flash of teeth in return. Kobya was still shaking as she let go of the leaf, her hands practically vibrating as they hovered in air. “It’s gotta be hard being the  _ spare _ for the heir. Actually, I’ve always felt that made us similar. We were both the  _ ‘just in case’ _ child for our family in so many ways. I don’t fault them, but it’s not a fun spot.”

 

“I can see that being how you saw it, knowing how you think.” Shuri began to walk over, only to find Kobya limping to keep widening the distance between them. She stopped then, staying at her end of the table, waiting. Kobya looked at her and then looked away. 

 

“It true you made this?” Kobya gestured to the lab. She nodded, noticing Kobya’s accent again.

“Well, I  _ had _ help,” Shuri rolled her eyes playfully, “but I came up with it.” She crossed her arms. 

“ _ All _ these things in  _ this _ place,” Kobya lightly touched her head, “came from ideas you had  _ here _ ?”

“No. It came from outer space.” Shuri chuckled.

“Once, I was an amazing spy,” Kobya stuck out her tongue, “but then I took a bullet to the knee.”

 

Shuri couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing, and judging from how Kobya’s tense body relaxed some, the little joke was intentional. When her laughter died she regarded Kobya gently. “So,” her eyes narrowed, “you play video games still?”

 

“Of course.” Kobya smiled, “the rare time I  _ could _ . American games are so odd. It’s the joysticks.”

“See, you’re talented! Time management is a skill! So is using those backwards contraptions!”

“You mean you didn’t beat it?” Kobya asked her incredulously. “Ah. Right. You suck at joysticks.”

“They just aren’t  _ at all  _ as i _ ntuitive _ an interface as -- no, that is not at all what I am saying!” Shuri waved it off, “though, if you’re up for it, I’d appreciate if you were willing to show me the—”

“You  _ git gud _ .” 

“Wrong game, genius.” Shuri quipped back, propping a hand on her hip. “I know, I know, I suck at that one too, but at least that’s true for ninety percent of people.” Kobya giggled at that.

“If you say so,” Kobya winked, “but just so you know, I beat the endgame in only two tries.” Shuri noticed how far apart they were. Kobya was still on the far end of the table, her body held tight and close. She had fallen silent, though unlike the other times, Shuri noticed this silence was more comfortable. So as much as she itched to end the moment of pure quiet, she instead chose to wait. Eventually, well over ten minutes, slowly, Kobya had inched closer. Then she was beside Shuri. Her body literally inches away, though she watched the trains of Mount Bashenga.

 

“Hey, it’s great to have you back,” She spoke when she noticed Kobya was so close to her she could whisper and still be heard, “also, you have nothing to be jealous of, you know.”

“Maybe.” Kobya breathed softly. 

“I mean it. You’ve got plenty of your own talents.” Kobya returned to watching the trains.

 

**“How do you think Chandra would feel about all this?”**

 

The question made the woman in the prison cell freeze. Or rather, the speaker wasn’t sure if it was the question, or her own presence. Okoye looked to M’Koni in silence. The woman rose to her feet, surprised, shocked, elated and heartbrokenly hopeful. “You came to see me?”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me  _ my _ daughter was alive?” Those were clearly the wrong words to say. M’Koni immediately closed off. The smile disappeared, she stepped back to the hard bench.

 

“ _ Yours and W’Kabi’s _ .” M’Koni echoed. “I gave nothing to make her life. Except what  _ saved _ her.”

“Could you look in Chandra’s face if she was still alive? After what you did to my family?”

“ _ Your  _ family? Oh. So now~” M’Koni clicked her teeth, “why are you doing this to me, Okoye?”

“Doing what exactly? Having a conversation with you?” Okoye asked incredulously, “I thought you wanted to talk. W’Kabi certainly made it sound like this was the case, but if it is not~.”

“Right.” M’Koni exhaled softly through her nostrils, the actions making them flare. “Of course.”

“Tell me, M’Koni, why you didn’t tell us?” Okoye pressed. “You knew we were devastated.”

 

“Because I didn’t want to hang a fragile relationship with what was just a hope.” M’Koni tsked at that. “When I found Kobya, I was heartbroken -- listen, Okoye, love. That girl? She has Kobya’s voice and face but that is not the girl we raised. She’s angry, bitter and needs  _ serious _ help.”

“Just like her Amai who likes to ignore her problems?” M’Koni froze. Okoye swallowed harshly. 

“Bitch.” M’Koni hissed at last at the accumulating insult. “Anything else you wanna say?”

“You just left us.”

“W’Kabi started us on that path, love, don’t you dare forget.” M’Koni voiced lowly.

“You said nothing of it!” Okoye hissed. “I knew only after you packed and left without a word!”

 

“It’s what I do.” M’Koni shrugged, not fighting the accusation, “I run. I did it when the three of us had that blow out. I did it when Chandra died. I did it when I lost the opportunity to be General to you for what were the wrong reasons.” She saw Okoye’s face twitch. “I did it again when we thought we lost Kobya. I didn’t know how to process being a childless mother.”

 

“W’Kabi told me what he did,” Okoye explained, “and if you had stayed, maybe we could hav~”

“Don’t go there,” M’Koni shook her head, “I’m expecting you to get that this is what I do. It is what I always done. Hell, I ran from an abusive man to the Dora Milaje because I didn’t know how to process that I had a daughter with him and that he would never believe Chandra was really his! You knew this was me long before you and W’Kabi agreed to my presence in your lives as more than just a goddamn  _ donor _ who saved your infant daughter!”

 

“I did.” Okoye admitted softly.

“You know this, and still, that is the first thing you leverage against me?” M’Koni shook her head, backing away from the door. “I never tried to be anything else other than what I am. I tried to work on those failings of mine -- but Goddess help me, Okoye, it’s not like I never made it clear what the hell you and W’Kabi were getting yourself into if the two of you wanted to be involved with me romantically.” There was a pause. Okoye’s jaw trembled for a moment. She looked to the ground. The door swung open, and then slammed shut behind her.

 

“Everytime you left, you always manage to take pieces of me. You know that, right?”

“I’m sorry.” M’Koni sucked a breath in and held it. “I tried not to. I left to avoid hurting you more.”

“Well you failed.” Okoye stated plainly. M’Koni only managed a pitiful laugh.

“My bad. Tell me,” M’Koni gave her a bashful smile, “what did I so  _ foolishly  _ steal this time?”

 

Okoye inhaled sharply, looking at M’Koni. At the hint of grey that was beginning to show in the hair that had grown in at her roots, dark and curly, unlike the dyed, red relaxed hair on top. At the hint of tattoos that showed at her widow’s peak, signs of a life as a Dora Milaje before she became a War Dog and a Stray. The more she looked, the blurrier her vision became.

 

“Oi.” M’Koni chuckled ruefully. “My darling,” she took a breath, “tell me something, sweet Okoye,” she pleaded, reaching for Okoye. She eased Okoye’s strong grip on her spear, and began massaging her hand, slowly moving to the wrist, her forearm. There was tension everywhere, and judging by how Okoye closed her eyes, it was painful. “Be honest with me.”

 

“Honesty where you’re concerned,” Okoye was staring her down, “can be difficult.”

“Try for us both then?” M’Koni pleaded. “Is this the first time you’ve cried since?” She caught a tear with a finger when Okoye nodded. M’Koni sighed before leaning in closer to kiss those tears away, each kiss gentle and lingering. M’Koni sighed softly, staring at Okoye.

 

Okoye stared back, her breaths shuddering. “I guess it has.” M’Koni frowned at that, and began to pull away, to put distance between them. “No, wait,” She pleaded, catching M’Koni by the arm. Her own hand raised to cup M’Koni’s cheek and the older woman froze. “Tell me this time when everything’s said and done you’ll stay?” Okoye moved closer, her lips just barely away from M’Koni. The older woman was frozen, uncertain. “That you’re not going to run?”

 

M’Koni couldn’t take it. She closed the gap between them. Her teeth lightly clicked against Okoye’s. M’Koni felt her smile into the kiss before she was wracked with sobs and then they were holding each other tightly. She pulled away from the kiss first, kissing Okoye’s forehead, then her temple, letting her head rest on her shoulder.

 

“You kept all this bottled up?” M’Koni asked gently. “I ought to give W’Kabi a piece of my mind.”

“I didn’t exactly share.”

“Oh Okoye, I keep telling you that you ought to tell W’Kabi what’s going on a bit more.”

“Shut up.” Okoye hiccuped, grasping onto her desperately. “We would have never~”

“Shh, I know, I know, love.” M’Koni closed her own eyes, feeling her face flush, and the wetness on her cheeks. She inhaled with a shaky breath as she opened her eyes again, staring upwards.

 

**“I’m so very sorry.”**

 

“For what?” Shuri was looming over her. Kobya found her head pounding. She looked around to find Nakia with them now, the older woman frowning at them both. “You did nothing wrong.”

 

“Earlier today,” Kobya was rushing to sit up from her place on the gurney, “you said you had a lot of work.” She was feeling lightheaded. “Then I sidetracked you and I...what happened?” She looked confused. Nakia tapped Shuri on the shoulder and the younger girl frowned.

 

“We were talking about your big sister,” Shuri relayed, turning to Nakia as though she was catching her up as well too, “and then you just…” Shuri paused, “passed out.”

“I passed out?” Kobya echoed. Shuri held her gaze for a long time, then looked away.

“Yeah.” She heard Shuri murmur almost inaudibly.

 

“Have you had a lot of episodes like that?” Nakia asked. Kobya felt even confused. If it was as simple as the pain in her knee, which was now far more intense, it was no big deal was it?

“I mean, it happens a few times now and then.” Kobya admitted, “Josie -- I mean M’Koni, you know, my Amai? She’s found me in a few weird places as a result. Why?”

“How long has this been happening for?” Nakia pressed. “And do you remember anything?”

Kobya shook her head. “I don’t know how long and I remember just what Shuri said.”

 

“Oh…” Shuri was wearing a scarf now and she seemed a little wary. “Nothing at all?”

 

“No.” Kobya shook her head and rushed to her feet. Pain shot through her knee and it gave out immediately. She reached for the first thing in reach that seemed stable. Shuri. Surprised, the princess screamed. Suddenly there were bodies in orange all around her, yelling at her. She was placed into a choke hold and pushed to the ground. Adrenaline kicked in fiercely. Kobya was screaming back. First in English. Then in Xhosa. The words illogical, terrified and barely strung together as she thrashed. A spear was placed by her neck, but she either didn’t realize or care because she felt the blade dig in as she continued to fight.

 

“Stop it!” Shuri’s voice sounded raspy, “I said stop!” There was a hesitation as the Dora Milaje looked to their Princess. Shuri found the sight before her painful. “Do you mean to kill her?”

 

That seemed to be the reason they all needed to pause in their actions. Shuri looked at Nakia helplessly as the three women all eased off of Kobya. The Princess breathed a sigh of relief that the misunderstanding ended. Shuri rubbed at her throat and watched as the warriors attempted to pull Kobya back to her feet and help her back to the bed, but she yelled at them.

 

“Don’t! Don’t touch me! Let go! Let me go!” She twisted away, falling to the ground. 

 

“Stop it. Please. It’s fine.” Shuri called to them, her voice warbling. “Anything you can do now will only make it worse.” She took a breath, closing her eyes. “Please leave us.” There was a thread of hesitation amongst the six of them. Finally one of the Dora Milaje bowed her head. The others followed as they all crossed their arms and broke them before leaving them in the relative sound of silence broken by the trains transporting vibranium on the tracks and Kobya’s whimpering.

 

“I guess,” Nakia began looking at the miserable Shuri and the curled up Kobya, “on the list of specialists we should get someone who specializes in dissociation and trauma as we~”

“You think!?” Shuri hissed, then closed her eyes, inhaling. “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting…”

“Alright, let’s start from the beginning. Shuri, what really happened?” Nakia asked, wincing when she heard Kobya mumbling incoherently, her eyes blank and vacant.

 

“Nubia holds the rage of Ra.” Kobya whispered, “The Lion sleeps. Nile runs red. Remember.”

 

“We were talking.” Shuri looked to Kobya with a leary worry as she mumbled, “Then she got really quiet. Then she’s muttering...” Shuri gestured to Kobya now. “Next thing I know she has me pinned against the wall. The Dora Milaje were there. I had to fight them to get off of her. She passed out after.” Shuri rubbed her neck. “What the hell happened to her in America?”

“We’re still trying to~”

“Well we need to stop  _ trying  _ and just figure it out already.” Shuri found a work bench and slowly lowered herself to it, sitting as she watched the still whimpering Kobya, though going by how still she had gotten, she was listening to them. “The Kobya I know would never harm a thing.”

 

Nakia looked torn. “I don’t think she did it intentionally.” She frowned looking to the still shivering form on the ground. As if sensing her, Kobya lifted her head. “But I have to agree. This poses quite the set back after how long it took to get any progress for her.”

 

Kobya frowned at that comment. ”Shuri,” she rasped, now coherent, “Thank you for saving me.”

“Don’t thank me. I panicked.” Shuri frowned at the dismay the lab was left in, “then the Dora Milaje only made this so much worse.” Kobya shook her head in disagreement.

“They were doing their job. You’re the Princess, I’m...” Kobya seemed calmer now, though she frowned as she looked to her hand, opening it and closing it. “I’m sorry. If I wasn’t so weak…”

 

“That kind of talk isn’t going to solve anything.” Shuri pointed out, standing to her feet. “Sorry about making your knee worse again. Let’s get your neck bandaged and then make sure we didn’t make it so you can’t walk on that leg anymore or something, okay?”

“Well, if I can’t walk again,” Kobya began, “I’m sure you could design me a cool wheelchair if I asked nicely?” Kobya gave a cheeky smile. “Can I request a hoverchair that goes into space?”

 

“Into space?” Shuri echoed with a laugh.

“What?” Kobya taunted her. “Is that a little too much for the  _ great and amazing _ inventor Shuri?”

“Oh, I’m skilled. That’s not the issue.” Shuri found herself smiling. “The problem is  _ your _ patience.” That smile turned to a grin. “Doing good work takes time. Somehow I doubt you’d care for all the prototypes you’ll have to field test. Especially if the first couple fail.” That earned a short laugh from Kobya and Shuri felt that at least for now, things would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to reach out to me via Tumblr. I love questions and theories and headcannons. :)


	8. Brothers die ‘Cause Coons Turn to Butterflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have bided their time and now Gabe and Kobya are making their move. Kobya takes a moment to simply be in the presence of Shuri and Nakia before finally making her decision.  
> T’Challa finds that the best way forward may include the things past Kings have discarded, and M’Baku of the Jabari just might be the key to understanding what King Bashenga’s rule meant for the culture of the other tribes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a little quiet over here :(   
> That’s okay. I’m still up for theories anytime, but I hope you enjoy!

“Not the title y'all want me under, all hail King Killmonger.”

\----

 

Red orange. Pink sun. Purple moon and blue skies. The wind had her long dreadlocks brush against her cheek, tickling her. Kobya sighed, pulling the free strands into a loose bun at the base of her neck. She sighed as she picked her way through the dust and sand of the desert, to the tree. In it she could see the outline of several large cat like creatures watching her.

 

“He said,” Kobya pressed her hands together, touching fingertips to her lips, “A river.” She closed her eyes picturing it. Long and wide, the river of legends. She heard the rush of water and sighed. In D’Jalia the Nile was the red of blood. It was both entrancing and disturbing. She knelt by the shore, reaching for the water, feeling it strange and warm as she cupped her hands.

 

“Careful.” Kobya jumped to her feet. She turned to face Gabe. He chuckled, opening his arms wide. She patted him once, twice, before letting go. “Drink it and you won’t be able to go back.”

Her lips quirked. “I’m sure that would be an improvement.”

He laughed. “And leave so much undone? Malaika, when have you ever been in that way?” He gestured towards the North. Kobya’s eyes followed. Wakanda was far behind them, barely a speck in their vision and before them were old ruins. “Look. She is buried here. In the heart of old Nubia. The Goddess you have dreamed of.”

“Huh. Really?” Kobya shifted her weight from foot to foot. “You got someone to confirm it?”

 

“Prison does not mean your Amai has no friends among the Dora Milaje. Similarly, just because my Great Aunt leads the Mining Tribe…” He paused to smile. “We ready, are you?”

“Yes.” Kobya swallowed. “And we will still need sacrifices, correct?” Gabe nodded.

 

“This place called Nubia…” Kobya had her hand to her chin, “Tell me Gabe,” Kobya breathed, “That where we need to go in the physical world too, right?”

“Yes. I’ll have someone meet you outside the capital. Nubia existed even before the Pharaohs. Some say Ra was born here, and so he sent his daughter to rest in the land of his birth.”

 

“You know,” Kobya pressed both hands to her hips, “It’s always been Bast this, Bast that.” She rolled her shoulders, humming. “My Great Grandmother was the first to tell me all the tribes had gods they prayed to before King Bashenga came along as the champion of the Panther God.”

 

**“Wait...You’ve heard of Nubia before, right?”**

 

“Nubia?”

“Yeah I…” the words dried from her lips as she watched the Princess of Wakanda  glance over before returning to her work. Shuri stooped down as she planted another seedling. For a second Kobya noticed that she looked almost like she was praying. Sitting at the edge of the walkway, watching the Princess, she sighed when she spotted a flash of Orange in her periphery and Nakia not too far from them. Rubbing her arms as if cold, Kobya looked around, noticing the guard of choice today — was her name Ayo — had edged closer as if expecting Kobya would turn violent. 

 

“Are you feeling alright?” Nakia asked gently. “You got rather quiet.” Nakia pointed out. Kobya caught sight of Shuri looking at her as well and flushed in the darkness, feeling suddenly hot.

“I was meditating.” Kobya tried to make her discomfort inconspicuous. “Sorry.”

“About Nubia of all places?” Nakia looked at her oddly then smiled.

 

“I’ve always liked old folk legends. Amai, Umama and Baba would tell me stories about the River, Merchant and Border tribes.” Kobya’s smile was almost contagious, or was it because she was looking at Shuri? Nakia wondered, but either way she was happy to see both girls a little more at ease. “There’s something about a place like the Royal Garden — so quiet and holy — that gets me thinking about them.” Shuffling to her feet, Kobya felt pain lance hot and white through her leg. She grunted before crashing shoulder first into a pillar. Shuri rolled her eyes.

 

“You’re so stubborn. Take it easy, will you?” Shuri chastised. “Just let me do the planting.”

“And what will _ I _ do?” Kobya whined. 

“Delegate.” Shuri snarked. “There’s a  _ real _ talent in telling people to do jobs you can’t.”

“Hah. Hah. So funny.” Kobya griped. “I feel bad leaving you with the bulk of the physical work.”

“Then take more painkillers -- like you’re suppose to -- and count the fertilizer. You said we were low?” Kobya nodded. Shuri wiped her forehead, her back to Kobya, though she noticed the silence. “Again?” Shuri frowned. “Careful with that leg, it’s still healing. You can tell us a story.”

 

“Tamsyn loves stories too…” Kobya got pensive and Shuri stood up dusting her hands off. She turned around to face Kobya, her gaze worried. Kobya shuddered, covering her face.

“Kobya,” Nakia was kneeling before her, hands on her shoulders.”Focus on us.” 

 

“I...I’m…”

Shuri sighed audibly, then in a quiet voice spoke, “Malaika,” Nakia looked to the Princess then frowned. Kobya looked to her and focused a bit. “Who is Tamsyn?”

“Aisha’s kid sister. Gorgeous little girl.” Kobya felt something slowly choking her.

“She sounds lovely. I think I would like to meet her sometime.” Shuri caught Kobya’s attention now, “can you tell me where you are?”

“In...Wakanda, right,” Kobya’s voice seemed disembodied, “could you call me that sometimes? That name. I feel that name.”

 

“Malaika?” Kobya nodded. Shuri caught Nakia’s disapproving gaze. “I could do that.”

“Shuri, we said Kobya needs to~”

 

“Thank you.” Kobya smiled to herself and Nakia halted the scolding. Shuri was about to return to her work until she noticed Kobya now looking at her intently.

Shuri wiped her cheek. “Is something wrong?”

“No I…” Kobya looked at the Princess who was smudged in brown hand prints all other her legs, and dirt across her cheek. The sound she made almost like a cough.

“What?” Shuri echoed. Then it became apparent that it wasn’t a cough at all.

 

“Why,” Kobya had to choke back a titter of laughter, “why did you wear white, silly?”

“I didn’t start the day thinking — let’s go play in dirt — this was  _ your _ idea.”

“Yeah, but you could have changed! Making people wait is what princesses are  _ suppose _ to do.”

“And let you do Bast knows what to get the samples over here by yourself to feel  _ ‘helpful’ _ ?”

“I would have stayed still.” Kobya crossed her arms, “Don’t you trust me a little?”

“As if! Short of tying you down and ordering you not to move, you’d have done it!”

“Then tie me up and order me, Shuri” Kobya dared, voice raspy, “I would go for that.”

 

There was a brief pause where Shuri froze, clearly replaying the words in her head. Her eyes widened at the implication. Suddenly she was pivoting away, a plant in hand as she dropped to her knees, her back now facing Kobya. The older girl looked surprised, hands high in the air as she balanced most of her weight on her good leg.

 

“Wait, what did I do?” Kobya sounded completely dumbfounded, “Shuri, I’m sorry!”

The entire exchange had Nakia laughing at them both. She could tell by how Kobya hid her face that she was probably embarrassed and mortified, her own words had finally caught up to her. Shuri on the other hand lofted the small pot she use to have the sapling in at Nakia’s general direction. It landed feet away, completely harmless, and the Princess looked at Nakia with a scathing glare.

 

“And you say T’Challa and I are awkward?” Shuri was suddenly digging a hole with much more force than necessary and Kobya looked at Nakia wide eyed.

“I didn’t mean for that to sou~” Kobya stopped herself, “Y’know what? I’m — I’m just gonna shut up now.” She sighed, sinking back to the ground, pouting at the tense lines in Shuri’s shoulders. 

 

“Malaika,” Nakia frowned in disapproval, Kobya’s eyes widened and she smiled, “You were asking about whether I knew about Nubia?” Shuri tried to change the topic.

“Oh! Right!” Kobya smacked a closed fist against a palm, “ah, so, according to Umama’s grandparents, the Northern region is where the Merchant Tribe came from. Back then, not all of the tribes worshiped Bast. Or if they did, Bast was secondary to a primary God they had.”

 

Nakia tilted her head and gave Shuri a look. “Great job switching subjects, Shuri!”

“Go and kiss my brother Nakia!” Shuri shot back, not bothering to look at them.

Nakia seemed unphased, looking to Kobya, “Maybe you should show me how it’s done?” Kobya looked between the two of them, her eyes flitting from one to the other.

“Look. We’re good friends.” Shuri tried to defuse. “We knew each other as kids.”

“I knew your brother just as long too.” Nakia posed back.

 

“I’m, y’know, still here...how did I get in the middle of this?” Kobya interjected, tucking the knee of her good leg to her chest. Nakia looked to the shrinking form. Shuri spared them a glance.

 

“Do you know a lot of stories about the old Gods?” Nakia questioned. Kobya nodded, glad at the switch in topic again. She sighed, becoming more comfortable, but it was clear by how she rubbed her cheeks that they must still have been burning with the heat of embarrassment.

“I had three set of great grandparents, and the moment any heard I wanted to know the old ways, they wouldn’t exactly stop talking.” Kobya lit up, touching her fingers together, “Like did you know that our historians thought the Merchant Tribe had always worshiped Bast too until they realized the large cats in those old carvings were actually lions instead of Panthers?”

 

**“Lions?”**

 

“Gabe,” T’Challa began to explain, “the Stray War Dog we have locked up, we’ve been attempting to gain information from. Every conversation I’ve had, he has dodged my questions, but he brings up that not all tribes use to worship Bast back in the time of King Bashenga.” M’Baku gently pressed fingers into the scars on his arms. It still felt surreal that not too long ago there was a bullet there. He nodded at T’Challa’s commentary before realizing the King had wanted him to respond to him. He looked up when it clicked.

 

“Oh.” He rolled his eyes at T’Challa. “You have got to be kidding.”

“The Jabari are the only tribe among the five who still worships a God who isn’t Bast.”

“That does not mean we know who the other three’s gods were.” M’Baku protested.

“But you know the ways before King Bashenga better than the rest of us, I’m afraid.”

 

M’Baku paused. It was true. The Jabari knew Wakanda before it was united under Bashenga. They knew the rivals of Hanuman, but M’Baku hardly saw the point in divesting. T’Challa may be the first Wakandan King to acknowledge the Jabari, but he was still that. A Wakandan King. A descendant of those chosen by Bast, who forced their will on others too weak not to follow. If there was one group who dismissed the power of other gods, it was the Kings of Wakanda: after all, not acknowledging other Gods bolstered the Royal Family’s status as the Bloodline chosen by Bast.

 

“I think I understand,” T’Challa was staring him down, “I haven’t so much as admitted Hanuman as real, so why would you tell me about other gods?”

“If I tell you,” M’Baku paused, “what will you do?”

“We have believed in Bast for Millennia. That cannot change.”

“So they will be forgotten again?” M’Baku asked. “For what, the Royal Family’s convenience?”

 

T’Challa sighed. “I know the Wakanda of King Bashenga’s time was much different that ours, but the Royal Family lost much of that knowledge when we pushed for celebrating Bast. What I need to know, for the safety of Wakanda is whether there is such a thing as a Lion God and whether she can bring harm to Wakanda.”

 

“Yes.” M’Baku replied.

“Yes what?”

“The River Tribe celebrated a Crocodile God. The Merchant Tribe celebrated The God of War and Healing, Sekhmet.” M’Baku spoke softly, his eyes hard glints, “she is a Lion God. Regarded as the strongest War Gods in the Heavens. Not even Hanuman, who is a trickster to all would risk angering Sekhmet. Even he fears her wrath should he cross her.”

“What are we looking at when you say  _ ‘Wrath’ _ ?”

“Killing half of the mortals in the world within a dawn and needing to drink the entire Nile’s worth of mead before she stopped and slept for three days and nights and was pacified. They say every spring when the Nile turns red with soil, it is the river remembering the blood she spilled.”

 

T’Challa pressed his lips together. “If a man like Thor is a God, and Hanuman and Bast exists…”

“Sekhmet must as well, right?” M’Baku questioned the King’s thinking. “That is true.”

“Is she in this realm? Or capable of coming back? Any information is helpful.” T’Challa insisted.

“The legends are lengthy and murky,” M’Baku noted, “we will need time.” T’Challa nodded.

 

**“Thank you.”**

 

“For thinking I wasn’t really a threat.” Kobya whispered. “And sorry that was a mistake.” The body hit the ground hard, and Kobya slipped away, taking the newly acquired spear and collapsing itin hand. She stashed the weapon away. The moon hung high in the sky. She didn’t have much time, but this quick stop needed to happen before she could push forward. 

 

Making sure the scarf she wore was tied securely, she was all too glad when she came across the two rooms. She licked her lips, dry from the air, she checked her side to confirm she had a waterskin on her. One down another to go. She flattened her back to the wall, ignored the protest of her knee, thankful for the current dose of painkillers to take the edge off. She saw a woman with a bald head and Orange doing patrol, sweeping the area around her.

 

“I heard something. Who’s there?” Came the voice. Kobya held her breath and just as the woman passed the doorway and spotted her fallen peer, she took the blunt end of the spear and hit her across the back of the head. She fell like a ton of bricks.

 

“Okay.” Kobya breathed. “Okay. Only two guards at night. There’s our two.”

“Who’s there?” She rushed towards the man’s voice and he looked at her, his smile widening when he saw her. “Mz. Malaika. Back from the dead. How goes the time with the Princess?”

“Hush Gabe.” Kobya ordered. “He gon get you out, or only I gettin’ special treatment?”

“No need t’worry. This keeps me in the perfect place to play distraction for you. It’s why you came, right girl?” He reached his hands through the slot in the door, grinning. “What’chu got?”

 

“A pet project. Try not to make the commotion too early. I need time to head North.”

“Consider it done little miss.”

“There is one not connected to this. It’s in my room. You hear the first boom and…”

“Got it.” Gabe nodded when he felt something press into his hand, “Ooh lookit you so fancy. Were you doin’ this right under the nose of that techy little girlfriend of yours?”

 

Kobya hesitated. “We’re not -- Aisha was -- Shuri is a friend.” She stuttered, “Is Amai…”

“Well some friend you must be.” Gabe laughed. Kobya flinched. “Just further ahead. Go say hi.”

“Alright. I’ll see Josie and get the hell out of here. The more of a head start I got...”

“Right. Be careful.” She nodded, rushing further into the strangely ghostly empty cell block. She slowed down when she heard a voice calling out asking what was happening. It was M’Koni. Moving to the door of the cell, she caught her mother’s eyes. M’Koni, recognized her instantly. She rushed to the door, then froze, the two of them staring at each other.

 

“I’m leaving tonight.” Kobya explained simply. M’Koni looked disappointed. 

“So,” M’Koni exhaled grabbing the bars of the cell. “That’s your answer?”

“Sure is, Amai.” Kobya’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a problem?”

“No. I only wished that Wakanda was able to help you heal and change your mind, but if you are determined…” M’Koni closed her eyes, swallowing hard, “I love you. I’ll miss you.”

“Me too, Amai.” Kobya froze for a moment before she nodded. “Take care.”

“Bye Honey Bee.” She heard M’Koni whisper something about Okoye, but she ignored it.

 

She knew she didn’t have time for lingering. It would take any moment for a patrol to extend to the cells and then the whole palace would be on alarm. So she tried to avoid the guards as much as she could and played it normal as much as she could. When she found her way to one of the back passage ways, she smiled a little when she saw two men standing there dressed in the rich blue and gold of the Merchant tribe, each with a camel. 

 

**“Let’s get going.”**

 

“Kobya isn’t awake yet?” Shuri looked up from her sand table, to Okoye and Nakia. At Okoye’s questioning glance she added, “trying to plant in a few places outside the Royal Garden was her idea.”

“That sounds ambitious.” Nakia noted. “Can she even do all that walking?”

“Probably not.” There was a click as Shuri placed something into the hand cannons at her table.

 

“Knowing her,” Okoye paused to smooth her fingers over an eyebrow. It was one of her more obvious stress habits that rarely displayed, “She’d force herself on that broken knee of hers.”

“Sounds a lot like her Umama.” Shuri smiled, though she heard a disapproving sound. Okoye crossed her arms. “Way ahead of you.” Shuri pointed over her shoulder. “Look there.”

 

“A hover chair?” Okoye examined the mobility device in awe. “When did you find the time?”

“It is,” Shuri paused her work on the weapon, “and I haven’t. It’s part of the accessibility project.”

“The King’s Initiative?” Shuri nodded at Okoye. “Has it been tested?”

“Unfortunately, not  _ extensively _ .” Shuri admitted, “which means it’s not to  _ my _ standards yet.”

 

“We all know how impossibly high those can be.” Nakia noted with a smile.

“Real live people are going to be sitting in those things!” Shuri gestured. “Our lab’s reputation will be attached, so it must be  _ perfect _ ! I can’t risk anyone getting hurt.”

 

“Great, but if we go into the mountains and it malfunctions, what do we do? Drag it and carry her?”

“No, we meditate until it floats again.” Shuri shook her head, “Kobya said no to anything far from the capital this time. We’re staying in the plains nearby. I’m considering this a small field test...”

“Does she know she’s going to be your test subject?” Okoye asked incredulously. Shuri smiled and shook her head. Okoye sighed. “You seriously think she’s just going to sit still in that thing?”

 

“If we tie her up and order her to, yes.” Shuri gave Okoye an impish smile. Nakia chuckled at the exchange while Okoye, realizing she was left out looked at them, eyes narrowing.

 

“It’s a long story, Okoye.” Nakia explained. “How about you and I go wake up Kobya while Shuri finishes the preparations?” Okoye agreed to the proposal and soon she and Nakia walked up the long ramp exiting the Mount Bashenga lab towards the long tunnels that led to the Palace. 

 

“She was never really an early riser.” Okoye shared. “Even as a babe.”

“W’Kabi’s shared stories about how waking you up before dawn back when you hadn’t joined the Dora Milaje was quite the chore.” Nakia smiled at Okoye, “It seems you like your rest.”

“I’ve gotten use to pre dawn mornings now.” Okoye combatted, but added, “She’s definitely our girl though. Pull her dreadlocks into a ponytail and get rid of the piercings and she’d be a young version of my mother. It’s a little uncanny, actually.”

 

“I was thinking that as~” Nakia froze as they turned down towards the wing of the palace that Kobya’s room was. There was no patrol. It was odd. Okoye and her both fell silent, exchanging a glance as the older woman tightened her hold on the spear.

 

_ “I’ll take point.” _ Okoye commanded in Xhosa, her voice hushed.  _ “You follow.”  _ Nakia nodded, falling behind. Okoye picked her path close.  _ “The Guard should be changing about now.” _

_ “So whoever did this knows when the shifts are.” _ Nakia noted. She held back a gasp when she saw the slump of a woman in the orange and brown of the Dora Milaje. Okoye stood aside, alert, ready for a fight. Kneeling, Nakia put her hand in front of the woman’s nose, then her neck.

 

“Well?”

“Alive.” Okoye nodded before stooping to take the spear she had and passing it to Nakia. She nodded, following Okoye who suddenly rushed over to another guard at a door. Ayo laid slumped against the wall, though she seemed to be coming to.

 

“Are you harmed?”

“No, General. Not badly.” Ayo paused to inhale and wince. “Just bruised.”

“What happened?”

“Someone knocked me out.”

“And Kobya?” Ayo shook her head, then hissed in pain. Okoye’s lips trembled and then she pushed towards the door. Nakia called for her to wait as she rushed towards the bed where there was a lump, but Okoye ignored it, driven to see to the well being of her daughter. The fact that she was not moving did not bode well. She reached out to tear off the covers, to see and quickly rushed back out the room, slamming the door shut.

 

“Get down!” Okoye commanded before checking Nakia into the nearby wall and covering the spy with her own body. Suddenly a deafening sound filled the air around them with heat and fire.

 

**BANG!**

 

“Wanna hear something really funny?” Kobya looked at the pistol, tilting it, testing the weight. A body hit the ground in the cavernous ruins. The other man was now pointing a sword at her. She grinned as she pointed the gun to her temple. “We’re smart in Wakanda. So smart!” She giggled, the sound high pitched and unsettling. Enough to make the man back off. “Super smart. We’re smart enough to think about weaving something as powerful as Vibranium into all of our clothes!” She pointed the gun at the second man. “But we are also dumb. So dumb. See. We wear nothing on our heads.” She shot twice and watched him drop to the ground. “Funny, huh?” She sighed, racking her hand through her hair as she whispered a prayer.

 

“Thanks for keeping me armed, Amai.” Pulling fallen locks from her eyes and putting a small Vibranium knife in her belt, she sighed. Grabbing the arm of one body she dragged it to the edge. She kicked with her good leg, gritting her teeth in pain, taking satisfaction in watching the body fall into the cavern. She did the same to the second and clapped her hands together. 

 

“May you know rest in your sacrifice to the Goddess, and may the blood of you faithful stir her from slumber.” Sighing, she sat on the stone ground as best as she could. She let herself concentrate on her breathing, on letting her body float away until she was in the world of twilight, of glowing blue and purple skies and heard a voice, strong, echoing and seemingly bemused.

 

“Do you have any idea what you’re getting into, human?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a busy month in my corner so things might be a little slow for a bit. Feel free to drop me a line on Tumblr though.


	9. Show no Pity in this city full of Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kobya makes her way to make a deal with a Goddess  
> T’Challa and M’Baku try to pick up the pieces of this sudden and seeming betrayal  
> M’Koni and Gabe find themselves face to face with a determined T’Challa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eight. Enter Bast’s counter part both in mythology and Marvel :P

“This time around, there's time to turn it around.”

\-----

 

“What was that!?” M’Koni’s voice floated over to him. Gabe opened one eye, then the second when he heard the shouting and the sounds of the Dora Milaje running through the halls. He turned in his cot, feeling the small metal bar in his hand.  He turned it over in his hand. It was like a lighter when he thought of it. Actually, now that he was taking a closer look at it, he realized it was made from one. He chuckled at that.

 

“Waste of a perfectly good flame.” Gabe hummed as M’Koni was now paying attention to him from the window to her cell, peeking out the bars, trying to see him. He got up and walked over, flagging to her, catching her eyes. “Wanna start a party?”

 

“Gabe.” M’Koni’s voice was low. “What did my daughter give you?”

Gabe grinned. “Keys t’the Kingdom.” He flipped off the top, flicked the lighter dial. They were deafened with the sounds of multiple blasts followed by screams. Gabe laughed and M’Koni found herself backing away from the door to kneel down and pray.

 

**“Oh Great Goddess, if you can hear me now…”**

 

“I was once a child stricken with violent illness,” Kobya spoke to the disembodied voice, “I don’t remember those days, but since I have been blessed with knowing truths others believe are myths.”

 

“That’s a bold claim.” The ethereal voice dismissed. “The age of belief is dead, human. With it went those who can see the Far Shore and what happens here. Take my current state as proof. You’re just a curious mortal who got lucky, and I’m bored.”

“This isn’t luck.” Kobya insisted, “This was deliberately planned. I know who you are.”

 

“Oh, and who am I, human?”

 

“The Goddess Sekhmet. Great protector and healer of those who believe and trust in her. A fearful god of calamity and war to those who test against her. I know those statues in old Nubia are not of your sister, Bastet, but of you.”

 

She felt it, creeping around her, a strange energy, the powerful form of a lion like creature began to circle her. Kobya held out both hands to show that she meant no threat. She could hear a strange laugh from the mouth of the lion as she nudged and sniffed, wondering, waiting. Taking the knife from its place on her belt, Kobya held it up, showing the inscriptions. The lion stopped in its stalking to watch the teen then turn the knife on herself, it’s golden eyes glowing. Kobya held up her hand and scored into it, watching the blood dripped. The lion watched the trail of blood drip fearly, licking its lips and then pounced. 

 

Kobya wanted to scream. The pain was strange. It was unlike anything she had experienced before. She heard a laughter then and then everything faded and all she could hear in the far distance, somewhere in the direction of Wakanda, were sirens of alarm.

 

The lion paused from her feast, looking less like the noble animal and more like a woman, her mouth smeared with blood. Sharp clawed fingers wiped at it with the back of her hand as she sat up, eyes golden and shining as she stared down with Kobya’s own face.

 

“You’re a little young, girl.” Sekhmet stretched her arms above her head, looking at her, smiling as she licked her fingers of blood. “That’s okay though. I always enjoyed maidenhood.”

“Is it,” Kobya gurgled, the blood bubbling in her mouth, “Good enough?” 

 

**“This will do.”**

 

Hesitation lingered. T’Challa wished it wasn’t the case, but he had taken the spear in hand, and placed a hand to his necklace. The suit surrounded his body like a second skin and he moved forward, quickly, through the halls. Normally, he wouldn’t rush in with just one person by his side, but today, with an attack on his very home, T’Challa had little choice.

 

“You know how to use these, yes?” He passed the spare spear to M’Baku as they headed towards the sounds of the blasts off in the eastern wing of the Palace. The man shook his head, handing it back to him, instead going for his club.

 

“I do,” M’Baku confirmed, “But I’ll stick with what I know works.”

“Suit yourself. Let’s go.”

 

He saw his mother first, woken up earlier than usual in the dawn, the Dora Milaje with her. She hadn’t even managed to get dress for the morning -- her long white dreads in plain sight. She looked at her son, and T’Challa slowed to look at her worried face.

 

“Are we under attack?”

T’Challa removed the helmet of his suit so he could reassure her. “We aren’t sure yet.”

“What about Shuri?”

“Listen, mother,” T’Challa allowed his hands to gently rest on her shoulders, “I will make sure my sister is safe and sound. I need you to make sure you’re safe so we both don’t have to worry.”

“I will.”

“You two,” he pointed to two of the Dora Milaje, “go with her. Guard her with your life.”

“Yes my King!” They chorused together. He nodded to them before turning to M’Baku.

 

“Ready to make this happen?” M’Baku asked as they looked further on to see smoke up ahead.

“What do you think we’ll find?”

“Someone who is responsible and soon to be dead.”

 

T’Challa shook his head as they ran further, and felt a sinking feeling hit him hard. As they went to more residential parts of the palace, to where the origin of the blast came from, it became increasingly clear where it had come from.

 

M’Baku and T’Challa’s footfalls slowed to a halt when they came to a hallway full of rubble, blast marks, and smeared blood. He looked around quickly before spotting the dyed red hair. His heart squeezed and he rushed over to her, and called out to Nakia. She nearly jumped when he reached for her. It was clear her ears were ringing, and she was trying to help someone on the ground. A Dora Milaje with familiar gold rings about her neck and head tattoos.

 

Okoye.

 

**“You’re here!”**

 

Kobya blinked as she looked around. D’Jalia was now a strange, dark shade of blue and magenta. She was outside the palace of Wakanda, but it was amber and red with flames. She frowned at the sight before turning around to a tree. Underneath the tree was a girl, and with her were two black birds up in the branches.

 

Realizing the girl had been the speaker, Kobya began walking over to her, slowing as the vision of the girl became clearer. She was about fourteen, with braided hair and beads that clicked as she turned her head. Her right eye had heavy scarring in it and she felt an ache through her own eye as she looked at the younger girl.

 

“I am.” Kobya responded. “Where is this ‘ _ here _ ’ you speak of?”

“Where do you think?” The girl asked. Kobya frowned looking over each shoulder.

“Am I finally dead then?” Kobya asked the young girl. “Is this really it this time?”

“Is that all you were looking for?” She asked with a beaming smile.

 

Kobya’s eyes narrowed at the child. “Who are you?”

“I am all you left behind.” Kobya frowned before turning away and walking but then she found the tree in front of her and the girl still sitting there. “Don’t you remember?”

 

“Is that why you can smile?” Kobya inhaled, then exhaled. “How old are you?”

“Don’t you already know?”

She gritted her teeth. “You’re fifteen.” She cussed lowly. “So this is what all those old Shamans grumble about if you spend too much time under and  _ ‘break’ _ in here. Fuck.”

 

Kobya turned on heel and began to walk away. The younger girl was in front of her now, leaning in from a place far too close, examining her. She placed a hand on Kobya’s heart, but she slapped the hand away and glared at the girl.

 

“Those piercings are cool.” The younger Kobya stated in muted awe. “Why so many?”

“They remind me of Baba’s markings.” Kobya answered simply. The younger girl attempted to reach out, but Kobya slapped the hand away. “Get lost.”

 

“Why do you lie so much?” The girl tilted her head. “That’s not what you really want.”

“Oh?” Kobya propped a fist on a hip, “and tell me, brat, what do I  _ really _ want?”

“You want to live, but you’ve forgotten how. They say that happens when you lose part of yourself here. So you’ve looked for death to reunite you with what is missing.”

 

“Well,” Kobya gestured to the sky, “as you can see with my little meeting with a great Goddess, I don’t need you. What I’m going to do is be powerful and strong. Getting rid of you and your weakness is only going to help, so thanks for jumping ship early.” She turned around again, heading for the Palace, but it never got any closer, and once again she was in front of the tree, and the girl was in front of her. This time she was on the ground beneath the tree. The younger Kobya sat on top of her now, and cupped her face in her hands.

 

“You’ll remember soon. What it all feels like. Don’t try to fight it. Just breathe.”

Kobya tried to resist at first, but then she felt a warmth enveloping her. She sighed and could feel something settle, something that had been missing for so long suddenly within her grasp and then suddenly, like the wind, the ground fell out below her and she fell. She fell and yelled until she found herself somewhere where there was only darkness. The girl was gone.

 

“Now now,” Sekhmet’s voice carried to her, playful and mocking, “I can’t have you doing that. A host without a soul is a dead. Reanimated corpses decay rather quickly, even with my power.”

 

“That girl…” Her head was spinning as she found herself in ceaseless darkness. There was no light, no scent, no sound, no heat or cold, just void. She wasn’t even sure she spoke in the vacuum of the room as she stared into nothingness.

 

**“What was that?”**

 

Shuri clung onto the nearest bolted down table she could with each consecutive blast, the cacophony of percussion making her ears ring and filling her with dread. It was too soon, far too soon after everything with Killmonger to have something else happen to them. She immediately reached out to Okoye. As the General, she would know what was going on.

 

Her Kimoyo bead went unanswered.

 

Grabbing the hand cannons, she ran for the ramp, up and up, but was shocked when the doors burst open. Nakia looked frantic as T’Challa came in holding a limp Okoye. M’Baku was behind him holding an unmoving Ayo. Ashen, Shuri looked at them as T’Challa checked her for injuries.

 

“Great,” he spoke softly as he set Okoye gingerly on a bed, “the explosions did not touch Mount Bashenga at all.”

“It was always been like this. The last thing we wanted was our weapons compromised.”

“You are safe and so is mother. That has taken a lot of stress out of this mess.”

“What in Bast’s name happened up there?”

 

“Explosions.” M’Baku explained. Shuri crossed her arms and glared at him.

“I figured that much.” Shuri replied flippantly. M’Baku glared back. “I need more. How? Why?”

“Don’t try me girl, we have work to do.”

“Then don’t give stupid answers anyone with a blindfold would know!” Shuri shot back.

 

“We’re still figuring the how and why out.” T’Challa explained. Shuri looked at him.

“Seriously? No conveniently timed threats, nothing?” Shuri was now hovering over both Okoye and Ayo as the computer began doing a full body scan.

 

“Shuri, the first blast came from Kobya’s room.” Nakia offered. This had both men and the girl freezing to look at her. She frowned. “It’s likely that~”

 

“She wouldn’t!”

 

“Child, listen,” M’Baku began, voice harsh, “I hate to say it, but your friend is a War Dog. Many of our War Dogs know the basics of guerrilla warfare. She would have the knowledge.”

“But Kobya was just settling back in to Wakanda. Why would she attack us?”

 

“Well,” Nakia sighed looking away, “she never said why she wanted to stay in America, and she told us she hated Wakanda now. It looks like what I feared, T’Challa. They wanted to be brought back to Wakanda. After all the trouble we had, finding and capturing them was too easy.”

“I worried the same as well.”

 

Shuri shook her head and instead focused on the two patients. “What happened to them?”

“Okoye got injured shielding me. Ayo was already in bad shape when the bomb went off.”

“Okay,” Shuri breathed, “okay, so we’re looking for a lot of internal bleeding then.” Shuri quickly set of to work, eager for the distraction while Nakia turned to T’Challa who watched, his eyes squinted and his frown grave.

 

“T’Challa?”

“Am I a better King if today I kill a teenage girl?” T’Challa whispered to her, “If so, does that make me far worse a man?”

“You know something, don’t you?” Nakia looked to him, then to M’Baku who cleared his throat.

 

“M’Koni and Buziba are of the Merchant tribe.” Nakia nodded at T’Challa began.

“The Merchant tribe once worshiped Goddess Sekhmet, the Great and Fearsome.” M’Baku continued. “They say the seal Ra placed on Sekhmet weakens in Spring.”

“If that girl is the new host of Sekhmet,” T’Challa mused, “and we do not stop her before Sekhmet fully awakens her power, Wakanda and the world will be in danger.”

 

Nakia felt something heavy sit in her stomach. “What will we do then?”

“I need you to stay here for me.” T’Challa begged, “look after Okoye. Tell W’Kabi. I need the three of you to protect Shuri, my Mother and the Capital.”

“And you?”

“I’m taking one of the Strays and I’m getting them to lead me to Sekhmet.”

 

**“Good luck.”**

 

“What was that?” M’Baku held Gabe by the wall and he squeeked.

“I said good luck at gettin’ us to snitch on Malaika you big stupid ape!”

“You want to die today boy?”

“Ow! Ow! Help!”

“No one is going to listen!”

 

“The Shrine of Sealing is in old Nubia.” M’Koni spoke at last. T’Challa uncrossed his arms as he turned to face her. M’Baku let go of Gabe and he hit the ground with a thud, giving a dirty look to all three of them, though most of his sourness seemed directed towards M’Koni.

 

“And why should we believe you?”

“Because I have vested interest in not seeing my daughter be the vessel of a Bloodthirsty Psychopath who happens to be a Goddess.” M’Koni scowled at the King, her hands curling into fists, “I want to respect what Kobya want, but the reality is that I gave up everything to find her again. My home. The people I loved. My position. Why would I give up all of that and just let this happen when there could be another way?”

 

T’Challa seemed to have taken it in. He nodded. “Let’s say we believe you. We need more information than that. Can you tell us what you need?”

“Absolutely.” M’Koni looked at him unblinkingly, “I only demand one small price in return.”

“Which is?” She was bold to be asking for a negotiation, but T’Challa knew better than to deny. If she was asking for something reasonable, he could give her what she want if it meant not having an angry, bloodthirsty god roaming the world. “Name your price.”

“Freedom.” M’Koni knew it was an obvious play, “not just to come with you now to help, but moving forward. If I’m there to help, I think my daughter can be rehabilitated, and I ask that you and I go to that shrine alone.”

 

T’Challa looked at her from head to toe, to see and understand every sign her body was giving. Whether it was indicating to him, even for a second that she could be lying. Upon finding nothing but the desperation of a mother trying whatever miniscule power she had to save her child, T’Challa nodded at the proposal. M’Koni paused, unsure what the gesture meant.

 

“That can be arranged. I will make sure they prepare something for you. We will set out immediately.” With that T’Challa gave the order to the Dora Milaje before leaving the prison block. M’Baku was following, hot on his heels.

 

“Did I hear you right?” T’Challa gave him a nod. “Are you mad? The woman use to be a Dora!”

“And right now she is a mother doing what she can to save her child,” T’Challa threw back at him, stopping in his journey to find a ship, “anything we can do to make sure she will work with us only ensures we will find Sekhmet before it is too late.”

“But to go with her, alone?”

 

T’Challa gave him a level stare. “That’s why you will follow. From a distance.”

M’Baku opened his mouth, then shut it. “I signed myself up for this, didn’t I?” T’Challa patted his shoulder, waving to him as he headed for the ships. M’Baku sighed.

 

**“I did this to myself.”**

 

The words flowed easily. She looked down at her hand to the beautiful face in the Vibranium sand. Shuri looked at her in dismay and rage as she spoke. “Nobody made me do it. I chose it.”

 

“Why?” Shuri asked. Kobya rolled her shoulders, sighed, and felt warmth blossom in her chest.

“Why?” Kobya echoed. “Because I’m bored. Because I’m tired of being weak. Because I hate how many questions you ask always expecting there to be an answer.” Kobya inhaled, then sighed when she heard the sounds of a ship moving closer. “You sent your brother.”

 

“I didn’t send him.” Shuri called, “he’s coming for you.” There was a pause as Kobya reached for the knife. “Kobya, this can be handled differently. Please, your parents just want you home, I just want you home.” There it was. A pause, a hesitation. Shuri knew she had hit something that was significant. “Your Umama was hurt by the explosions. She’s in bad shape.”

 

“Is she?” There it was. Worry. Concern, a thread of despair and guilt even. The Kobya she was familiar with. Now if she could keep the girl talking.

“I’m doing all I can, I promise.” Shuri continued, “but she’s asked about you. Several times. She’s worried. It’s why I tried calling you.” Kobya seemed to take it in before shaking her head.

“Sorry Shuri.” Then with that, she turned off the Kimoyo beads before slipping off the bracelet and throwing them down the crack in the earth. It was just as she heard the footfalls slow.

 

In her sight came M’Koni and T’Challa. The Black Panther approached her cautiously, and Kobya frowned at them both, backing slowly towards the chasm. T’Challa quickly removed his helmet to look into Kobya’s eyes and to hold up his hands.

 

“There is another way,” he pleaded, “I understand you felt powerless, but this is not the answer.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘The Answer’,” Kobya shot back, stretching her arms out to either side forming a T as she got close to the edge. “only an answer.” She looked over to his companion and hesitated, her eyes lingering on M’Koni. “The Goddess, she is here. She has returned.” Kobya’s eyes glowed golden. “Her wrath will be known, whether you are a King or just another man.” T’Challa tried to rush to her, but the moment he was in reach, she took a step back.

 

“This is  _ my _ answer.” With that, Kobya fell into the chasm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Tumblr. As always, feel free to R and R


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